Saviors and Hellion Smiles
by Harlequin Sequins
Summary: The Joker has been mortally wounded. Will no one step up at Gotham's own hospital to care for the vastly despised villain on the verge of his deathbed? Only one is foolish enough to do it. Set during the Dark Knight.
1. Left for Dead

No one would touch him.

He was the leper, the repulsive beast they'd rather see dead, rotting in that uncomfortable cot he was lying in, like a dirty, painted ragdoll, before they'd even dare lay one finger on him. But he was dying…slowly losing self-control, gradually beginning to slip into comatose as blood seeped from his desperate veins. I saw it when I would walk down there out of curiosity, trying to disregard the fact that he was just lying there, his head lolling from side to side like a restless, pacing dog, but he was not fully there…a part of him had already left, and if they didn't tend to him soon, it would be lost from him eternally.

If it wouldn't have been for Batman, another responsible soul, he never would have made it here. They would have left him for dead, another faceless corpse pushed into the gutters of Gotham's finest slums.

I tried to talk some sense into them, tried to get them to heed my heartfelt warning. But no one would listen…they munched on their tasteless salads, sipped their tepid coffee in a tireless battle to stay alive during the crippling hours of service a nurse was expected to fulfill. A city like Gotham never sleeps, never rests its weary head, no matter how awfully tired it really is. The dark part of its being is much too excited, and there is little cause for rest when a mind is whirling with rampant thought.

They all just looked at me, sheer pity in their passive eyes. Couldn't they understand what I saw in them? If they did not show him compassion, why should he show any to the city he mangled with mayhem? It was no wonder the man was a sociopath…if I had been showed such cruelty as he was shown by the world, I would have turned my back on it a long time ago…just like he had already turned his back on the demands of the reasonable, sound mind.

I never told them my intentions…only that their apathy was the reason for his demented endeavors. If there ever was a man that needed sympathy, it was most certainly him. He needed it above all the rest so that he could feel, if only a little, what it was like to be human again. Surely he'd been a simple creature before…all humans, no matter how warped they become in the image of their self-annihilation, start out as mere molds of shapeless, gray clay. It's the colors and forms molds it into its final structure that dominates the person's identity, finalizes their figure and twists their minds into the incentive of what they had become.

He was only the progeny of his broken environment. But it seemed I was the only one that thought he deserved kindness above all the rest. And after an hour of deliberation and much consultant between my conscious and my embittered logical mind, the concerns of the heart mattered more than that of the unfeeling brain. I gathered all the energy that remained of my listless limbs and saddled up my courage like a cowboy on his last cattle run. The clerk at the front desk looked at me as if I were crazy when I asked for his files…perhaps I was, but at least I wouldn't have his death to gnaw at my guilty conscience.

I couldn't just let him die there without any attempt to save him, and I thought he should at least die with dignity, on the streets where he belonged, than in a cold, garish hospital, handicapped in an ugly old bed, and left to die without any loved ones and not a soul out there in the entire world that cared he was gone. No one would ever care, I knew this, but I had to try.

Perhaps I would burn in Hell for helping him…but I would go to Heaven feeling remorseful if I did not.

It was a long walk from the file keeper's desk to where his room was. They shut him up at the very last room of the building, out of sight and out of mind, where no one would have the guts to venture. He was the only one down there, all the other rooms vacant as most had died from fatal injuries, some by his own hand. But I think he liked the silence…perhaps he wanted to die more than I'd thought.

I was nervous, naturally, this being my first time tending to a potentially fatal wounding, and as I walked through the door, finding him with heavily lidded eyes, his painted mouth downcast in a tired frown, though the image was very contradicting to his permanent Cheshire grin. The white sheets were cast over him, coverings that were meant to be a sign of victory over his looming death. But he still had fight in him, and had peeled the white coverlet from his embellished face, some of the mask staining the virginal white of the cloth.

He was watching me, the pure, ominous power of his aura accumulating into that one unfathomable gaze. His eyes were transfixed on me as I sifted through his files, finding them virtually useless with no name, age or certain useful information such as allergies and medical history. But I stared at those empty pages anyway, trying to decide whether he was gazing at me to intimidate, or out of blatant curiosity.

Finally, I looked up, snapping the thin manila folder shut and tossing it on the empty table nearby. He followed my every movement, a predator closely watching his prey…some of it was uncertainty, while more of it was bloodlust surging through his dark, shadowed eyes.

"So…"His lips smacked fervently, that serpentine tongue running across the ragged trail of his scars that traced the inside of his cheek. "You're the only one..hmm? The only one foolish enough to save the useless life of a raging madman?"

I didn't know if it was wise for me to even answer his insulting rhetorical question, or if I was even capable of speech. The room felt like it was closing in around me, slowly melting into a tiny box and leaving me stranded in a breathless area. I tried to breathe normally, feeling unglued around those fixated hollows I could easily have mistaken for pits of extinguished hell than actual orbs of sight.

"Well," I coughed softly, a nervous habit. "Let's see the damage, shall we?"

I stepped forward a little too quickly for his taste. His lethargic hand crept from beneath the covers, and I saw that in his quivering hand there was a knife, the tip dipped in scarlet red. My stomach turned, frightened by the speechless warning.

"I have to look," I whispered, swallowing hard against the growing lump in my throat. "I can't help you if I don't know what I'm dealing with."

He eyed me suspiciously, his tongue darting out from between those gaudily decorated lips of his, smearing the scarlet spread over the ashen face paint. That hand never really lowered, but I was allowed to advance and lift the bloodied sheet and dig through the many layers of his purple and green array of clothes, finding a rather nasty gash slitting the skin in a diagonal fashion from his hip to where his ribs began. It was bleeding ferociously, an explanation for his trembling and inconsistent fatigue, and appeared to be deeper than one could tell at first glance. I prodded gently around the wound, feeling for any splintered bones or possible problems with internal bleeding. While I couldn't exactly tell the latter, the first possibility was put to rest as I prodded around the gaping slash.

But I had to hurry…he was losing blood, and quickly. All that wasted time I'd spent on trying to persuade careless nurses had been unwise on my part; I had to stitch him up quickly if I was to save his life.

"Stay here, don't try to get up and go anywhere because you won't get far. I'll be back to stitch you up, and some sedatives so you can sleep."

"Well, I _suh-_ppose I should ah – listen to ya," He leered at me, his face contorted with the stitched etches of a sardonic grin. "Doctor always knows best. Isn't that right uhh – _Chel_-sea?"

I had forgotten I had been wearing my nametag on my scrubs, and looked down at the label with an almost resentful pause.

"Is that what I'm _sah-pposed_ to do, doc? _Listen_ to you? And what are ya gonna say that's worth my time, to _hang_ around here and wait for you to save my _lee-ttle_ life, _hummm_? Because, ya know, I have this hearing problem – _nee_-arly deaf, really. Especially when it comes to hearing the _so_ciety gosp_el_. Must've been all the uh – all the _ex_plosives and gun_fire_ I've been exposed to – _that_ or my selective hearing."

"I don't…I don't understand what you're getting at here."

Despite his growing pallor and the diminishing weakness in his empty black eyes, he wriggled upwards in his cot, his tongue flickering from within his cavernous mouth. "Well, ya see, I've already got ya uh – _p_inned down. That's what I'm uh - _getting_ at. I'm getting at _you_."

"And what have you gotten so far?" I looked up at him from behind a veil of fear, fishing the point of the needle into his hand. He seemed not to notice, too caught up in his web of manipulation to take heed of the prodding little thing.

"_We_ll, ah - you've got this little guilty conscience rattling in the back of your head telling you to do this, save that and _oh_! Well, if you save the _Joker_ than you'll get a nice gold star. Here's the thing, _toots_ - I don't give gold stars. No. No, _no no_. Just ah - _sil_ver bullets. And I don't think that's what ya want…_is _it?"

"I don't want a gold star, Mr. uh…Mister Joker. I just want...nothing." And the words came like a repressed sigh. They weren't very true and he knew it.

He cocked one inquisitive brow.

"Not from where I'm _stand_ing, girly. From where I am, I see that I _stand_ for nothing. You. For. _Everything_." He licked his lips, languidly now as his body drifted off into a comatose state. "You have _ever-ee-thing_ to lose."

"I have nothing to lose. I live in a shit apartment and all I have to my name is this dead-end job. You have nothing to take from me, I assure you." I snorted a little, biting back a laugh.

He continued on, despite his gradual slackening of consciousness. "Or do I? Do I have anything to take from you but a _bur_den?" He cocked his head to the side, his black eyes never faltering from their accusatory gaze. His tongue wandered over the raised thread of scars, almost as if tracing their existence."This whole _he_ro complex you've got going on here – is this…_your_ _mask_? We all wear our masks, _girllyyy_, some less _con-spic-uous_ than mine. But it ah - doesn't take _pai_nt or a _cow_l to make 'em any less…_de-cee-ving_."

I looked away, feeling my breath hitch in my throat. He was getting to me…I couldn't let him win. Not so early in the game, not _now_.

"_Is_n't that right, _Chel-see_? And _allll_ it takes is a _little_ pressure..." He reached up and tapped my cheek hard with his hand, and I looked straight at him as he grinned mischievously at me. "To make them _fall_."

I rose from my seat, clearing my throat and straightening the front of my scurbs. The only sound was his tongue as it worked the tattered edges of his scars.

I left for supplies, not bothering to allow a physical response to his mind games and the unease that had begun to eat away at my resolve.

I began rushing down the secluded halls until I reached the bustling hub, not bothering to look behind me. He seemed a ghost, omnipresent in the way that his voice followed me everywhere; there was no escaping him.

Apparently, I was not applauded for my charity service toward the delusional madcap I was devoting my time and efforts to. Some had even known that I had made my decision to aid him before I did, and hid some of the necessary tools for the small-time operation. I could only guess that they'd seen it in my eyes, that drive to help the helpless. It was time wasted that I spent looking for the missing tools, and time I had to make up by running as fast as was possible for a girl with sharp tools underneath her arm toward his room, barging through the door to find him pleasantly humming to himself an out of key tune, completely unfazed by his injuries.

He said nothing as I sat down with the tools and began working on his wound.

He didn't seem to like being ignored, with me being so focused on my attempt to save his unvalued life. Apparently, to him, life was just a game, another format of amusement that he could bend to his will and create into any shape he liked. He preferred chaos, everyone knew that. Naturally a man so used to being on the evening news would be unaccustomed to being ignored.

"My, my, aren't _we_ just the picture of focus?" His eyes were sinking further into their somber coma now, as I took a moment to glance up at his face. One swipe of his tongue glazed the length of his scarlet lips; a nervous tic, undoubtedly. "Why the silence, _hmm_? Is it weary _res-ee-gnation_ that makes you _crin_ge or uh - do ya just not like _clowns_?"

He let out a wheezing chuckle, and his body shook with the pathetic laugh as I tried to stick the needle into his hand. I tried to catch his hand, but it suddenly evaded me, and his laughter stopped short.

"I need to sedate you so I can sew you up properly without pain." I explained, trying to catch his hand again.

"Now why on earth would you do something so _dread_ful as that?"

He shared another lecherous grin, but I ignored it, reaching swiftly for the needle.

"So you won't feel pain, I assure you sir."

"Listen, sweets. My father was _Sir._ And as we can both see. I'm. Not. My. _Father_," he stared almost blankly at me, rolling his eyes as a sudden thought came to him. "Or is it just that the _little_ part of you here that can _man_age to sew me up just can't measure up to the even _big_ger part of you, the ah, the formal no ah, _frigid_ part – that wants me _dead_?"

"What are you getting at?" I asked, bringing a hot rag to the bloody wound and pressing it softly to the split flesh. "What are you trying to exhume from me?"

"Ex_hu_me? This isn't a _grave_yard," he clicked his tongue. "No, I'm uh - just trying to figure _you_ out, girly. But _yoouu_ – _you_'re a tough little book to _read_."

I disregarded his probing statements and continued with my task, dabbing carefully at the seams of his wound until there was not a drop of blood left on the surrounding skin of his injury. Then, I reached for the needle…I could just barely see his eyes glitter with excitement as I picked up that glittering little object and forced it through the primordial film of tattered skin. He sighed with pleasure, then proceeded to chortle darkly with glee, a low, abiding sound that sent chills down my rigid spine.

He certainly wasn't a comfortable person to be around…an interesting specimen like one to be measured and inspected in a laboratory, to say the least, but not good company at all.

When I had cleanly stitched the wound and sealed it completely shut, I clipped the wire from the needle and placed lubricated gauze over the freshly sewn gash, so as to ward off any bacterial infections that would make him stay even longer in my care.

"There. All done," I reached for the I.V. once again, this time catching his hand without any trouble and feeding the pinpoint of the needle into his dusty skin, putting two thin slices of medical tape over it and securing it in its place. He might have been an easily excitable character, but like all human beings, he wanted sleep more than ever…another human characteristic that made him a little less monstrous and a little more human in my eyes.

"_Humm_," His tongue flickered out between his lips again, catching onto those terribly disguised scars as he emitted a small unimpressed grunt. "Well, if it wasn't the _little_ doctor that could – but I ah…I don't wanna see what ya _could_ do. What I already know you do, day _in_, day _out_, bored of your ah - _you_r little routine. I wanna see what ya _can_ do, out of the bounds of _eth_ics and _so_ciety. A little anarchy goes a long way, _Chel_-see."

I made no reply to his mocking statement, merely injected the sedatives into his exhausted veins. His eyes, already heavily lidded with weakness from his loss of blood, drooped and dipped low over his glassy eyes over and over for a few minutes, battling sleep like a stubborn child. But finally, his head drifted to the side, and not another movement erupted from those usually twitchy, agitated features. For once, he looked peaceful…not at all like the senseless lunatic I'd seen on the news, that same depraved, lurking figure I'd find myself hoping to avoid when I couldn't find a cab ride home.

He was only human in sleep.

As I studied him with a soft curiosity, my eyes caught sight of the knife he'd threatened me with. Gently, out of respectful fear than actual trepidation of him waking under such heavy sedatives, I slid the weapon from his hand and stuffed it into my pocket, knowing he probably had more stashed on his person, but I was satisfied enough with finding one at the moment.

I quickly pulled his shirt closed and threw the covers over his gangly form before frantically bustling out of the room , my dirtied tools under my arm as I made a mad dash toward the livelier parts of the hospital, where all the activity was…away from the manipulative loon I'd only just left behind. I'd hardly dared to breathe in that smothering room, and now that I was free of his frightening power I could breathe easier, let my lungs glide and respire freely without fear to incapacitate their ability. I closed my eyes briefly as I tried to regain my composure, feeling my hands shake, those same hands that had nimbly worked the needle through his deviant flesh.

I received many glares as I walked down the hall. They were hoping I wouldn't go through with my plan, that I'd just let him lay there and die. Some shook their heads, others turned away, shameful to even breathe the same air as someone so low enough to tend to the monster that had killed their loved ones, their friends. They figured, since I hadn't lost any of my loved ones by his hand, that I didn't understand their vindictive whim for his rightful punishment. They were right…I didn't. But that didn't make me any more regretful that I had done my duty, and saved my own selfish conscious from feeling what they would certainly have felt later if I'd left him to wither in his bloodstained cot.

Still, I was shaken by our encounter, and I ducked from my unwanted attention into the staff room where I snatched a Styrofoam cup from the stack by the softly thrumming refrigerator and poured the stale, brown liquid into the makeshift mug. There was no cream around, as it had all been used up during the last shift, so I settled myself with the leftover sugar, left in a messy pile within the confines of a tiny wicker basket.

A knock resounded across the small room as I contently poured my sugar, my trembling spell already beginning to dissipate as his formidable presence began to disintegrate from my person. I turned to find one of the higher doctor's standing there, his white coat blanched to a perfect, starchy white color. His countenance was flaccid, extremely tired from the long years of overtime and solitude.

"Chelsea, might I have a word with you?"

"Of course, doctor." I sipped at my coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. But I figured it would be better than my current stupor, and bit back the urge to spit it out across the recently mopped tile floor.

He coughed nervously, his eyes lowered as he fiddled with the pocket protector stuffed into his breast pocket, the name tag beneath hanging motionlessly, the boldfaced words spelling out the name _Jonathon Smithland _in boring, black font.

"So, how's your patient?"

"He's doing well," I ignored the evident sneer in his voice, shrugging lightly as I spoke. "I gave him sedatives to let him sleep. He suffered a large amount of blood loss, so I'll have to do a blood transfusion to pump him back up. In short, he'll live, I succeeded, and I don't need you ragging on me about something you know you should have done the minute he got here."

It was around this time that all sense of propriety melted away from his voice, and hysteria followed soon after.

"Are you crazy, Chelsea? He's the _Joker_…he doesn't deserve to live. He's the one responsible for Gotham's havoc, for all of its problems. Why couldn't you have let him just die there? Are you…are you even human?"

I narrowed my eyes, searching for humanity behind the doctor's guise. "I think the question is sir…are _you_?"

"Why'd you do it? That's all I wanna know…so I can better understand why one of my _best_ nurses risked her own life to save a madman."

"Because, sir, I believe that everyone deserves the chance to live if they're given it. I don't think it would've been right just to leave him there. After all, he's human, and _deserves_," I enunciated the word sarcastically. "To live, just like the rest of us. Now, he's not the reason for all of our problems, Gregory. He's just been responsible for the recent ones. Some of Gotham's problems are self made, doctor. Perhaps you should remember that he's just a man, and that he needs the same compassion that you are shown just for being a human being."

I walked out of the staff room in an angry rush, brushing past the tall, haggard man without another look his way. More scornful looks came my way, and I tried to discount them as I sipped absently at my cold, repulsive coffee.

It was going to be a long shift.

* * *

Author's Note:

This was an idea I had after trying to find something interesting for you all to read. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy planning and writing it!

Disclaimer:The Joker belongs to DC Comics. Chelsea Grant belongs to me.

(7/4/09 - Hello! This is the revamped version of SAHS. I'm currently rewriting the dialogue for the Joker after finding that I have a much better grasp on his character than I did when I wrote this. If you're a new reader, then I hope you'll enjoy the story. If you're a returning reader then - I hope you'll notice the changes! I completely altered the dialogue for Chapter One and I will be doing the same for the next installment. Enjoy!)


	2. Speaking of Friends

By the time I was in bed, I couldn't stop thinking. My head kept wrapping itself around the strangest notions and ideas, some paranoid, some merely just everyday worries one acquires when living in such a rotten, dilapidated city as Gotham. Bills to be paid, relatives to be called, just to make sure they weren't mugged or shot during a bank robbery, and a whole lot of worries that comes with age and responsibility.

Usually, I'm used to these kinds of late night thinking sprees. But now that I have a new worry to bear in mind, there was no hope for any semblance of sleep tonight.

I rolled over in my tangled sheets, hugging the pillow close to me like an old, worn teddy bear for comfort. The bright, fluorescent street lights wavered outside my bedroom window, turning a faded sort of orange before flaring back up into its normal acidic yellow. But this side seemed just as unfavorable with the blare of the city's lights outside, boring into my sleepy eyes and making it almost impossible to instigate any hopes of dreaming. I groaned inwardly and ended up stuffing my head beneath my pillow, but still something ate its way through the fabric and tittered nervously in my sleepless mind.

The fact that I had to leave him there alone made me apprehensive. I had already saved the poor man; any accidental death on the hospital's behalf would render my time and all that effort utterly useless. That, and I couldn't be responsible for his death…it would surely eat me alive. Sure, Gotham would be better off without him…Gotham could certainly go without a many number of criminals that stalk the streets of the city, even worse in the narrows, a place I could easily have mistaken for an oversized sewage plant if I hadn't visited the place to find decent apartments. The crime rate was high here, and the Joker was only making it worse.

But it was morally wrong to kill him off.

For hours, I just lazed there, wasting time until the sun came up since it was obvious I wouldn't be able to catch a wink of sleep. There was nothing to do but think, ponder as midnight slipped into early morning, and as early morning submerged to dawn. Only then could I justify the thought of getting up, and I unraveled myself from the warm sheets, shivering in the impending chill of winter hanging like a fog outside a crack in my window. I'd hoped to fix that bothersome ailment; it let in all the cold in the winter and allowed the heat in during the summer. But I didn't exactly have the money for petty things like fixing broken windows, and resorted to extra blankets or less blankets when the season called for it.

I dressed and performed my daily morning routine like a robot, drained of all energy, but still my mind contradicted itself. It was lost in a dozing haze, like the rest of my body that ached from lack of sleep, but in the back of my head somewhere, it was alert, almost wary in a way that made me dread going back to the hospital. Something told me it had to do with seeing the Joker again, that I was afraid, like the rest of the cowards in the hospital. But unlike the other cowards, I'd done something, and that got me walking out my door with my keys prattling confidently in my hand as I hurried down the street in search of a cab.

By the time I'd reached the hospital, the sun was already fanning its vivid fingers of neatly spun gold across a fading horizon. Since my eyes were so heavy and my head felt as if it'd split open on cue, the white reflection bouncing off the tiled floors was not a welcomed sight. I shielded my face from the encroachment of my comfort borders, and found my way almost blindly toward the clock in box. Part of me was amazed that they could afford such a high electricity bill, but then I remembered how many patients they tended to in a week and the astonishment faltered as quickly as it had come.

"Good morning, Miss Grant."

I blinked away the spots dancing around my clouded vision. "Hey, Bill." I replied, recognizing the deep, friendly voice of the dayshift security guard.

"Rough night?" He almost laughed, but held it back for my sake. The outline of his face wrinkled with the effort, and I almost wished he would smile, just to jog my memory of what he looked like with a brightened face. He hadn't smiled lately, not with the way things were slowly plummeting for Gotham…not with the Joker roaming the streets like a freed jailbird.

"You could say that." I nodded, handing him my check in card and watching as he punched it in. He returned it with the printed numbers of my arrival on the bottom, and tipped his hat at me. I noticed how bedraggled he looked, and felt sorry for him and his family. They were really struggling through the hard times.

"Take care of yourself, Bill," I admonished, sliding the card into my designated slot.

"Don't you worry about me, Chelsea," Bill's voice darkened, all signs of humor gone from his tone. He lowered his voice, leaning in, his eyes widening with fear. "It's yourself you should be worried about. I heard the Joker's admitted, somewhere in this very hospital. You'd best keep on your toes; there's no knowing what he could do."

I almost smiled, a frightened smile, but nonetheless a slightly amused expression. "Is that so? I think that's just small talk. Those nightshift nurses can get pretty loopy after looking at blood for twelve straight hours. I know I do."

"Even so, keep your eyes peeled." He stated ominously. I continued on my way, laughing at the irony of it all. They sure wouldn't help him, but they'd gossip about him being there with everyone, wouldn't they?

The lights seemed even more potent walking through the main doors of the second hospital wing. It might have been just that everyone and everything was sterilized in white, but my eyes were too tired to be straightforward with me. I counted down the seconds before I could grab a nasty cup of coffee, just to get me through the long shift ahead. I wasn't built right to pull all nighters.

"Excuse me, Miss Grant?"

I inwardly groaned. Not another protestation toward my moral values…I'd gotten quite a few of those lectures before I was allowed to leave the grounds. I guess people really didn't like what I was doing for Gotham's own notorious Agent of Chaos. I turned to face the irritant, ready to get the confrontation over with so I could have that coffee was desperately, yet irrationally, craving. It was that older doctor again, Gregory, his coat still just as blank and colorless as his drained, aged face.

"Yes, doctor?" I replied as politely as was possible for a girl on zero hours of sleep.

"I just thought it might be necessary for me to inform you that," He coughed in that pompous business-like manner, that uneasy sputter one gave before telling someone they were fired. "The hospital can't afford to feed your little experiment, as we should call it. We're simply chalk full…every room is now taken, and the hospital is short on funds. Surely you'll understand."

I had to refrain from doing a double take. Not enough funds? How much did it take to pay for crappy, insubstantial food anyway? Sure, they hated the Joker and they didn't have to like me for taking care of him during his stay, but they couldn't just let him starve!

"Are you trying to say that you won't feed him?" I questioned incredulously, my expression contorting into a disbelieving glower.

"We're very sorry, Chelsea. We just can't afford it."

"Yeah, my ass you can't. You just don't want to suffer the bad press and your own failed vengeance…that's fine," I clenched my jaw and raked my fingers through my untouched hair. "I'll just feed him myself. You people just can't do this, I won't let you…it's damn cruel and you know it!"

He didn't even change from his formal representation, even as I pierced his eyes with a hateful glower. The hypocrisy of it all…they wanted peace for their city, they talked of better things for their lives. But they just couldn't spare a little kindness for a desperately lost, mislead soul.

I carried on with my medical duties after poisoning myself with an overdose of caffeine, checking in on patched up police officers with gun wounds and singed firemen with burn marks all over their bodies. Some were just ordinary citizens with ordinary problems, like appendicitis or a bad car accident. But many were here because of muggings, armed robberies, drive by shootings, just normal things Gotham experienced everyday.

My job was fairly easy. All I really had to do was change bandages and administer necessary medication and I was done for a few hours. But with the heightened amount of patients checked into the hospital and the severely low number of nurses, some of us were forced to work overtime. Most didn't mind…it would put off going home for a little while longer, where some were alone or others were forced to face poverty and depression. This hospital was an escape for them…and it was for me too.

It was literally hours before I could take my appointed break, and only then was I allowed to venture back into the shadowed areas of the unused section of the hospital, where my most fascinating, yet terrifying patient was situated. I took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to release all the flouncing jitters from my body, then opened the door slowly. It creaked noisily, and I hoped it wouldn't wake him if he had been sleeping.

"Knock uh…knock. Who's _the_re?" He drawled forebodingly, his eyes alight with rejuvenated fervor.

Apparently he'd not been sleeping.

He looked more alive than he had yesterday, no longer just the limp, vigilant figure wallowing in his own vital fluids. No, this seemed a completely different species of madman altogether. His eyes were vibrant and tense for action, like a drunkard looking for a fight in a dull, smoky bar, and his skin had recovered some of its pigment, no longer ashen and chalk-like as it'd been the day before. But his body still remained vulnerable at the loss, and he still appeared weak when it came to appearance.

"Oh, you're awake," I muttered awkwardly, edging into the room as if I were trespassing on some dark, mystifying secret. "Are you, uh, hungry at all?"

"Hmm," he lifted the sheets and poked his head beneath the stiff material, observing his patched up abdomen. "My sources say yes. What did you have in mind?" He pulled a yellow-toothed grin, his scars twitching with hidden spasms of mirth.

"Well, since the hospital is-"I paused, trying to find less offending words for such a hard subject to breach, comfortably at least. "Refusing to feed you, really…I'm gonna have to pay for all of your meals."

The Joker wasn't a generous man, and therefore not grateful either. In fact, the only time he was being generous was when he was wreaking total havoc on Gotham. Other than that, he remained stingy when it came to giving and taking from the otherwise useless people that surrounded him in _his_ Gotham, his playground of destruction.

"That's a real bummer, you see,' cause I thought they really liked me," He clicked his fidgeting tongue in mock disappointment, shaking his head. "Oh, well…I suppose you know what this means, doc?"

"I suppose I'll be uh…feeding you?"

"Hmm…I guess I'll just have to play leech, the parasite. You're a good host_ess_, aren't ya_ Chel_-sea? You seem the type for it, dontcha? Don't give me that look, you…I know the good girls when I see 'em. Ya got that wide-eyed look about ya…the one that sca-_reams des_perate…for uh – for _attent_ion."

A leering grin tautened across his painted features, fading now as the spread wore away. Silence meant

He paused, thoughtful for a moment, narrowing his charcoal-lined eyes as he deliberated a subject he seemed bent on keeping to himself for a moment, before he perked back up and that rapid tongue of his swept across scarlet lips, leaving a glistening film on his leering mouth. "Just for the record, dollface. I'm not perceptively a…man, if you'll excuse the ah – the poor _gen-eral-ization…_that uh, fares well with boredom. Things tend to…"He made a combusting gesture with his hands, "Explode when I'm idle. Ya catch my drift, don't ya?"

My insides coiled with fear at the thought, and I nodded in understanding, hardly able to speak under the heavy burden of such a threat.

"Ya really know how to make a man _happy_, sweetheart." He chuckled, that same dark, forbidden sound resonating deep in his throat. It was nothing I hadn't expected from Gotham's most terrible villain, but expecting something is much different from actually experiencing it.

This experience, so far, was not a pleasant one. I wanted to escape, to just provide the treatment that was needed for his sort of case and get out so that I could return to my less menacing patients and less gruesome tasks. I felt as if I were turning my back on humanity, but knew that I was also turning to face something much more powerful than mere mortal beings. Even if the Joker did die in this hospital, in this very bed, his legend would live on…perhaps it wouldn't be pleasant, and perhaps he would be affiliated with campfire stories to tell around the fire, just to scare the wits out of unwary campers and nightmares that kept children away from their pleasant dreams. Still, he would live through that legacy…he would never truly die.

He was still very watchful when I stepped forward to check his bandages, those vacant shadows darkening around his eyes as he furrowed his brow and focused all thought on what I was doing. He licked at those severely mottled, red lips of his, yellow teeth bared as anger swelled into one dominating emotion.

"Say, it seems as if I uh – lost my bite, ya know?" his eyes gestured to the pouch on the plain white trousers of my scrubs, and I cast him a worried glance, matching stares with those unsettling irises of his. "Now I'm all _bark_."

"Your…bite?" I asked.

"Uh, that's ah – what I said, isn't it? C'mon doll, we've all shown our true colors here…ya don't have to hide your _fetish_es from me."

"What are you-"

"The knives, sweets. Silver, a little bloodied up from my _es-ca-pades._ But I uh – I like 'em a little red. A reminderrr of just how much farther I have to go before I have this city wrapped around my little uh – _finger_."

I couldn't help but think to myself how strange it all was, the way he talked about his knife as if it had human attributes. He had spoken softly, as if talking of an old friend, and all I could do was try to disregard his lunatic ravings, an unwise choice on my part.

Apparently, my lack of answer signaled defiance, and the Joker was not a man to be trifled with when he wanted his answers. He reminded me of a temperamental child throwing a tantrum, the way he lurched forward, despite the stitches, and grabbed me fiercely by the collar. I stared into his eyes, my own bulging with fear, and lightly took notice that his eyes were brown, little flecks of envy green tarnishing the perfect russet color. But that was in the back of my conscious…my mind had more urgent thoughts to deal with, like being in the clutches of a known lunatic, and unable to find ground with my feet to attempt running away.

"Lookie here, doc. I don't want any trouble, now. I just want my trophies back," his voice was poignant, raw with derisive jabs at human emotion. "It gets so lonely without you here to talk to, and I just…I just can't _stand_ to be alone. Just like – uh you, right? Kindred spirits and all that. How could ya leave a brother in arms all by his little self, with no one but the uh – the shadows for company? _Hummm?_"

He bared that same stained, rotten grin, his breath hot on my face. I had no choice but to render it to him, knowing I'd most likely regret it later, but at the moment it seemed my only hope of escape. I fished it out of my pocket with violently trembling fingers, my breathing growing shallow as my terror heightened. Our panting respiration mingled, his accelerated by bloodlust, mine by naked fear.

"Here…here take it," I stammered, swallowing against the forming lump in my throat as I offered him that odd little switchblade, his gaze averting from mine to the slender object. He let me go as soon as it was in his gloved hands, and I fell like a heavy weight to the floor, just barely missing the edge of the hospital cot.

He chuckled heartily, obviously tickled by his twisted victory while I just rested on the floor, still experiencing that heated rush of adrenaline as it coursed through my veins. I didn't want to get up and face him, but his stitches weren't dressed, and if I let the air get to them for too long, he could get an infection.

I gathered my wits and slowly lifted myself from the cold, hard floor, brushing off a bit of dust from my garments and proceeding to sterilize a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and stretch my hand towards the uncovered wound. I wasn't so confident now…all aspects of buoyancy had been thrown out the window, and all that was left was that riotous sensation of self-preservation shouting in my head for me to run…run as far away as I could, where he could never find me and talk to me about his little knife friends again.

"Don't be _silly_, girly. I don't bite," he grinned demonically, motioning toward the closed knife. "That's his job. I won't sick him on you, don't you worry about that. I'm in your care, remember? I'm your parasite…I can't just _let_ you walk free without sucking a _lee-ttle_ life outta you first. I wouldn't be doing my job _right_, now would I?"

I exhaled a tremulous breath, trying to recapture that darting sense of courage that seemed to evade me. Even now, when I needed it most. But I succeeded in redressing that awful, bruised slash and recovered it with gauze. He scrutinized my every move with a smug, knowing look on his face, those detestable scars curled upward into a shrewd smile. It frightened me out of my mind, but I finished the task well enough, and was surprised when he started applauding, looking up at him with expanded eyes.

"Fear. Isn't he a…_fickle_ little thing?" He tilted his head, like he was scolding his naughty dog. "Reminds ya of how human, how _in-see-gnificant_ and worthless the word _me_ really is and how useless _you_ really are."

What else could I do?

I only nodded, and escaped from that room as fast as I could, already dreading the fact that I would have to go back in there to give him food. I'd made a pact with my conscience that I just couldn't let down…there were responsibilities that I had to tend to now, no matter how reluctant or terrorized I became.

Another three hours passed smoothly, and I was able to calm myself by making myself busy. The less time I had to ponder, the less I became nervous and felt like throwing up. By one, I was running on caffeine alone, and still my eyes drooped until I knew I would need toothpicks to keep them open if I couldn't find some other source of artificial energy to keep me alert. I was given a lunch break, and I escaped the confines of the hospital for a few minutes by visiting the grocery store a few blocks away. Naturally, with the city in such turmoil, I was forced to take a cab to save the possibility of being mugged on the street, and arrived at the market in record time. Of course, that extra time I was given also robbed me of ten dollars…but beggars couldn't be choosers, and I wasn't usually one to make bad choices.

With the exception of spending a lot of my free time around murderous criminal masterminds, that is.

By the time I arrived back at the hospital, it was one thirty, and I walked extra slow toward the very last hospital wing, where the shadows lurked and accumulated beneath the iridescent lights. I told myself over and over how I didn't want to go in there, that I was sure he'd fling that knife at me as soon as I opened the door. But then I remembered that he had use for me yet, and that, without me, he would starve and rot with gangrene from untended wounds.

It gave me a little more pluck, and I stepped through that door, perhaps a little more complacent than was wise for a girl in my sort of predicament.

But then I heard that cold, bone-chilling voice…

"Well, well, if it ain't the _sun_shine girl here to brighten up my _der-ea_ry little day?"

And that sense of satisfaction rapidly disappeared.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**So, uhm, yeah I'm pretty much like dancing on air right now! The amount of reviews I've recieved for this have been majorly awesome! I guess I must've done something right. Anyway, just to answer a question really quick before we get on to the the one anonymous reviewer, who said something about doctors not handling justice, if you were at all skeptical about this plot So, we all know that Gotham is a corrupt city. Everyone is always looking out for themselves and those who are important to them to avoid being killed in a rotting city. Also, these people had their families and friends killed by the joker...so they now have two reasons to not want to treat him. Now Chelsea is the only one not stricken with grief at the loss of a loved one at the Joker's hands. She doesn't know what it's like to lose someone close...and also, she's too self-conscious not to do something about it, or else she'd go insane with guilt if she didn't.**

**So there you go! Enjoy! And thanks again for all the favorites, alerts and reviews! Also! A little tribute to Heath Ledger in here, if you can find it. It's there somewhere, just look out for it.**

**Disclaimer - I own nothing of the the Joker. He belongs to DC Comics and Christopher Nolan. Chelsea Grant, however, belongs to me.**

(7/5/09 - Hello there! Harley/Brie here nearly a year later to fill in some blanks. If you don't know the deal just yet, especially if you're a new reader of the series, then I'll fill you in! SAHS is nearing its first birthday and in honor of a year since being published, I'm going to go back and edit everything! Joker dialogue is first on my list, but I will also be fixing Chelsea's dialogue, the plot, medical protocol and care and also some other bits and pieces, such as con-crit I recieved while I was still writing it. I'll be fixing the next chapter within the next day or so. Enjoy!)


	3. Moral Epicenter

I felt as if I'd sold my soul to the devil.

By now I was feeding him and nurturing him back to health, so it was only natural that felt like his unwilling accomplice.

While I was busy last night, paying my bills, I devised a way to get my own shipments of food from the same company as the hospital for the next two weeks that I'd guessed he would be staying. I'd have to pay extra for the special delivery and of course the lady seemed curious as to why I would need three meals a day for just one patient, but she took care of my business without a fuss.

Perhaps things would work out for us anyhow, even for the black sheep of the white flock.

Like I'd promised, before heading out the door for my next shift, I grabbed a pile of books I'd collected the night before so he would at least have something to do while he was stuck in bed all day, besides miraculously pull together a bomb and make the hospital explode, like he'd threatened. Of course I knew he wouldn't have been able to, that it was just another empty threat of his, but I didn't want to let down my guard around him, and figured that the best way to do things was to heed his warnings, no matter how ludicrous they seemed.

And so, with six or so books under my arm, I was forced to walk to work. None of the cabdrivers seemed to be on duty, at least the ones around my place, and after a while of flagging down off duty cabs, I relented and continued on my way, on foot. The first half of the walk was uneventful, but by the time I rounded the corner, with the hospital in sight, I spotted a few alleyway goons fishing through a wallet that I highly suspected was definitely not theirs. Luckily I sped past before the one that had noticed me walking by could harness the attention of other two , and I was spared the traumatizing experience of being mugged, or otherwise raped and left for dead in a dirty trash receptacle. For once, luck seemed to be on my side.

I didn't need coffee this time around, having been blessed with a fairly decent night's sleep, and went straight to the back of the hospital so that I could drop off the books and food in his room. By now, everyone was at that stage of indifference toward me, and they paid no mind to the foolish, inexperienced nurse as she walked through the halls in her tie dye scrubs and matching purple pants. They could only infer that I was wearing purple as an ode to my newest 'experiment', as they disdainfully called him, even in front of my back.

I was beginning to think maybe my choice in color wasn't too wise. My own favorite color was baby blue, but I hadn't been able to wear my favorite light blue scrubs, as they'd been in the dirty laundry for going on three days. These had been the only one left…

He had noticed too, as I walked through the door, carrying a armful of books under my arm and a bag of food in my hand.

"Uh, violet? Are ya _dying _ta catch a knife in the gut from one of your ah– _fell_ow victims, _Chel_-_see_? Violet induces viole_nce_, gur-lyy."

I couldn't argue with him on that point. People had begun to shun the color purple, and when once most of the city had worn it casually, now they subtracted it from their daily wardrobe altogether. Stores began not selling products of that color as people slowly began to stop buying it. The whole city was boycotting it, even I was out of fear. But today was an exception…I could easily just as well say I had nothing to wear, when it was the honest to God truth.

"Yes, I got ignored for it," I murmured, setting the books down on the edge of his bed, watching as he suspiciously surveyed the titles. "But it's nothing I can't handle, really." At this, I shrugged nonchalantly, knowing I couldn't show anymore weakness in front of this specific patient. Weakness was a sin in his eyes, and in his world, he was God. He had the power to strike me down if he saw it fit, because to him, he was the ruler and punisher of the entire city.

He began sifting through the book titles, picking up _Frankenstein_ first and casting me a questioning glance. I shrugged again and observed him as he picked up _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, _A Clockwork Orange_, _The Phantom of the Opera_ and finally, the Bible.

At this individual volume, he picked it up inquisitively, looking over the back of it before turning it around. He scoffed and made a noise of disgust at the title, hurling it across the room in his fit of bad humor. I watched it hit the wall in a flurry of unsettled pages and fall to the floor, no doubt wrinkling some of its frail, paper thin sheets. He apparently didn't like my subtle suggestion, and I suddenly felt very lucky that I hadn't been stupid enough to take my father's old bible, the one book in that scummy apartment of mine that I treasured the most, even amongst the best sellers and classic literature.

As he read the back of _A Clockwork Orange, _I saw his eyes light up with special interest. I had figured it would be his favorite, knowing that its plot would intrigue him at the very least.

"Now, I'm no scholar, doll face…I'm not usually one to notice things right off the bat," his tongue danced along the irregular scars lining the inside of his mouth, a habit I was beginning to relate to thought. "But you seem mildly, if not _fan-ati-cally_, interested in books about monsters and darkness and…uh _chaos_." His eyes transfixed upon mine, prodding me harshly with a haughty glint flitting through his irises.

"They make for an interesting read, yes," I began taking out groceries from the bag, setting them on his food tray. They would have to do for now. "Now, I don't know what ingenious criminal masterminds really eat…so I got you a whole bunch of things."

I buried my face in the bag for a closer look, catching a glimpse of the mentioned item. "Yep, here they are. There's also orange juice and apple juice, and I even bought some iced coffee if you're interested."

His caked expression turned to one of immense boredom, as if the mere mention of coffee made his mind retract into an inert state.

I would have argued with his muted point, but I didn't want to risk a run in with his little friend, and decided against it. For the most part, he could've been right, in his own twisted view of things. Everything he saw was deviated to fit his lonely lifestyle…everyone was always inferior to him in everything they did so that he was superior above all else. He had an ego the size of the Grand Canyon, if not bigger.

I picked up the bag and set it on the floor next to his bed, turning back to face him as he returned to that odd habit of closely watching me. A part of me felt insufficient under that terrible, powerful gaze, but the other half felt uneasy, like a doomed cow being sized up by an aggressive butcher.

"Well, I suppose, I'll be going then," I stuttered, tripping over my clumsy words.

"By all means…Take. Your. L_eave_."

I tried not to let his words set that chill through my bones, but it was hard when those infinitely perceptive, and equally malicious, eyes bore into me and searched the caverns of my underlying soul. He knew he was causing trouble by just being here, and he liked it…it gave him a sense of victory over his theory. When the chips were down, everyone would be looking out for number one.

Perhaps he should've grown up to be a philanthropist, since he was so good at knowing the selfish habits of mankind.

But I tried not to let him get to me as I walked back down the hall, passing from his netherworld and back into human graces. Well, of what little grace I was given. The infernal glares had started up again, and I wondered what had ignited those backstabbers back into their self-righteous fire again.

I didn't even have to ask. My question was answered when one voiced their answer.

"He killed my father, you know."

It was female, and decidedly young by the way it made music when she talked. I turned around, pivoting on the heel of my shoe to find another nurse, one not much older than me, looking at me with what seemed to be hate in her cold blue stare.

She spoke again. "He killed my father, and now you're helping him. You should burn in Hell for helping him…he is, after all, the Devil himself."

I took a deep breath, looking her square in the eyes. "Maybe I should…you know, maybe I should burn in Hell for helping him. But you know what? It just proves that I'm not like you…vengeful and spiteful against everyone. You're just proving him right. He has a cause for all this madness, and it's all just to prove that the world is better when it's in shambles."

This ruffled her finely pruned feathers. She straightened her back, folding her arms over her chest defensively. "Well, at least I won't be remembered as the bitch who turned her back on Gotham."

"No, but I also won't be remembered as the _bitch_ who didn't do anything."

I was about to turn away, thoroughly done with all the alienation just for having a moral epicenter. But she seemed bent on having the last word…or, the last action for that matter. I heard her footsteps thudding against the tile floor, but when I'd whirled around to face her to see what she was planning on doing, I was punched in the nose by a flying, nicely manicured fist.

"Miranda!" The lobby was thrown into a tumult, the clerk rushing from behind the front desk as I stumbled back and held my bleeding nose.

She grabbed the girl's writhing form, ignoring the bullying shouts she shot my way as she was pushed away from the sudden madness, back toward the staffroom where they advised her to clear her head with a cup of coffee. They thought she was just tired and cranky from the long hours…but I knew better.

"Chelsea," the clerk kneeled next to me where I'd sat down to let my nose drain, offering a few Kleenex tissues. I took them with a vicious hand, taking my bloody hand away from the gushing scarlet river that had spurted from my nose and replacing it with a clean tissue.

"Maybe it's time to give up." She bit her lip cautiously, looking at me with hopeful eyes.

"I'm not going to just surrender because you people can't learn to face the facts around here," I stood back up, probably looking laughable with a tissue stuffed up my seething nostril. "I have to do this…it's what Batman would have wanted us to do."

"Batman's wishes don't decide Gotham's fate, Chelsea," she explained, trying to reach out and touch my shoulder for comfort. I ripped it away from her grasp. "Let's let him take care of things. We just have to try and keep out of the way of their battle, because it's not ours to fight."

"It's not about us, anymore." I retorted. "It's about Gotham. And if it takes nursing the psychopath back to health for Batman to kill him on the streets, then so be it."

I stalked off, leaving a dumbfounded woman in my tracks. Like everyone else around here, she just didn't get it…she didn't understand that doing nothing meant that he had gained control over our lives, that ignoring him signified the completion of his reign over Gotham. I had to make sure he knew that not everyone had fallen victim to his trap…but it seemed that I was the only one that understood that besides Batman. He needed compassion…and he needed it terribly.

I finished the three hours before my lunch break waiting for Bill's call. I'd asked him to call the front desk when the food truck had come in so that I could get my hands on the portions I'd ordered, and he'd agreed, though seemed perplexed by my request. Apparently, it usually came early in the morning, before I even showed up for work. But today it had been delayed when one of its workers got shot by a desperate bum trying to steal some of the food. It wasn't anything new to me, I'd heard this sort of stuff on the news all the time.

However, my call came around one, during the first five minutes of my lunch break. My name was called over the intercom, and I dumped the Styrofoam cup I'd been unwillingly sipping at immediately when the sound erupted from the hospital speakers. Luckily, I wasn't too far from the front desk, and I snatched the phone from the clerk's soft grip before she could even say it who'd called…I already knew, and I didn't need to waste precious time talking with someone who doubted me anyhow.

"Bill? Hey, yeah thanks for calling…it's here? Okay, good. I'll be down there in a sec…thanks, bye." I didn't bother hanging it back up, I just left it on the countertop before hurrying back toward the cafeteria part of the hospital, where I disappeared through the back door and down the steps into the loading area, where a vastly enormous truck had been parked and opened at the back, with men in gray, boring uniforms were unloading a large amount of packages of food.

"Excuse me!" I chirped at the man holding a clipboard, who seemed to be checking off the bulk as it came off the truck. He looked up when he caught perception of my voice, likely because it wasn't the usual male grumbling he was used to hearing.

"Yeah, what can I do for you girl?" He looked at me scathingly, but there was question in those eyes, somewhere, buried deep beneath the messy glower.

"I prearranged a special two week order," I panted, having ran all the way from the front desk to the loading deck. "It was supposed to be in today. I ordered it under Grant instead of Smithland."

"Hmm…"He grunted, chewing on the end of his pen as he skimmed the paper on his clipboard. "Ah ha! Here it is…Grant," He sifted through more papers…wasting time again. People seemed hell bent on wasting my time. He pulled out a release form, looking just the same as the others on his mangy clipboard, and set it on the surface so that I could sign it. Out of the corner of my peripheral vision, I saw his brow quirk and then furrow into a dubious scowl. "Might I ask what a girl like you is doin' with all this grub?"

I smacked the pen down on the clipboard, looking back up at him with a feigned, plastic smile. "That's not really any of your business, is it?"

"I guess not," His shoulder lolled casually. "The box is pretty small. You think you can carry it yourself?" He motioned to the last box, situated back in the shadowy corner of the back of the truck. I climbed into the chilled icebox, picking up the slightly damp, cold container and lifting it into my arms, finding it was heavier than it looked.

"Yeah," I exhaled, trying to balance the new weight in my clutches. "I got it. Thanks."

"No problem, girl." He said as I walked away, undoubtedly returning to that old, beat up clipboard of his. I kicked the backdoor leading into the hospital back open, trying to brush off those interested stares as they followed me through the cafeteria. Even the kitchen staff was wondering what in the world I was doing, but I was on a strict, no talking policy with all of them…they apparently had heard of my antics, and like everyone else, didn't agree with them. I just hoped they had the sense not to spill my secret half-life to the press, or else this place would be swarming with cops, vigilantes trying to gain their revenge, and likely even more patients, with nowhere to put them. I think they knew this as well; so far, no one from the outside world seemed to know of the Joker's location. It was better that way.

This time, when I entered the reclusive little room, I found him asleep, curled on his side in a cautious way that reminded of why he was really here. His hands were unclenched for once, and his knife rested easily between the leathery palms of his gloved hands. I was quiet as I walked into the smothering atmosphere, that immortal sense of power he had over everything alive and thriving even in his sleep. But I think that was my own fear eating at my conscience….he seemed perfectly harmless, lying there, his sides swelling and falling with each effortless breath he took.

I didn't want to wake him from his dreams, finding even those twitching scars serene as he drowned in his calming somnolence. Instead, I set the plate on his food tray, covering it with a paper towel I ripped from a nearby roll I'd left for convenience later on. With my job seemingly done, I made for the door, when the sudden thought crossed my mind that he might be more comfortable without those stupid gloves on his hands. Skin needed to breathe too…especially underneath all that fake, nasty leather.

Careful not to make any abrupt sounds, I edged around the end of his bed and settled at his bedside, wringing my hands nervously as I tried to determine whether or not it would be a good idea even to touch him. But I established my resolve and reached for those purple gloves with shaking fingers, peeling them off softly, watching his face for any signs of arousal from his sleep. Sometimes, a twitch of annoyance would ripple across his features, but it would settle back into a state of comfort, and I managed to take off both gloves without any trouble.

I couldn't get over how warm and extraordinarily human his hands were. They were commonly fashioned and callused, just like any working father's would have been, and felt just like any normal individual's overwrought palms. Underneath the gloves, they appeared so alien and frightening, able to wield an entire city into anarchy with one simple flick of his festooned wrist. Now they were just any ordinary man's fingers clasped between my overly comfortable hands, the beat of his heart resonating through his thumb.

Just like he was in sleep…he was only an earthly power, easily put out like the inconstant flame of a candle.

There was an odd impression of less nervous angst around him when those devilishly flickering eyes were closed. I set his hand gently back into its place, leaving the gloves and his little 'friend' by the covered plate of food, then returned to my first thought after coming in, which was getting out that door as quickly as possible. And I did just that, but felt less like a tightly wound clock as I emerged from the murky room than usual…I only seemed frightened when he was awake, and able to warp my mind with those quick witted words of his.

I just had to keep telling myself he was not an angel of demolition…he was a man without cause or purpose, just a rabid dog looking for something new to bite with every victim he took down.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, like I was stuck in a time continuum and couldn't get out. My shift ended and I was allowed to go home after leaving the Joker his evening meal, who was still asleep when I went in there, the food I'd left him untouched. He seemed like a deep sleeper; he'd not moved an inch since I'd come in earlier during my lunch hour. But he was still weak from the blood loss, and the amount of indolence didn't alarm me as much under his circumstances.

I left one light on in the corner in case he woke during the night, and left him my spare flashlight in case he wanted to read out of boredom. There had been a page of my Bible used as a bookmark to mark his place where he'd left off, the lightweight leaf of paper wedged into the middle of _A Clockwork Orange_ . I'd hoped to save it from mutilation after drifting back toward the corner where he'd thrown it and picked it up, keeping it out of reach from his spider-like hands. But apparently he hated it so much that he'd had the gall to tear it up, and as a spit in the face toward religion, used it as a page marker in a book about disarray and a dystopia he hoped to create out of Gotham's dwindling situation.

I should've known better than to leave it even in his line of sight, but it was too late now, and I could only thank God that I hadn't brought my father's bible…over and over again, I recited that little thought in my head as I walked absently down the street, searching for a cab.

But as soon as I was about to wave one down, a deep, rasping voice emitted from the shadows. I gasped, and clutched my chest, peering into the dark and backing into the false protection of the light once again, even as the cloaked form of the famous Batman materialized from the gloom.

"You're a brave person." He murmured, his piercing expression a bit daunting, even when concealed behind that unintentionally comical mask. I swallowed at the irrational lump in my throat, dropping my hands from my chest and feeling silly for such a reaction toward the city's most prized citizen.

"What, uh…"I swept a strand of hair from my face…another nervous habit. "What makes you say that? You don't even know me."

"I know what you're doing for the Joker." His eyes narrowed.

I cast my eyes toward the ground, sheepish. "How'd you manage to find out about that?"

"Good hearing," He quipped briefly, his figure a black obscurity blotting out the beauty of the stars overhead. "I'd hoped someone would have done what you're doing, but a part of me feared that none of you would have the courage to do it."

"It's not out of courage, sir," I explicated softly, feeling the stale brush of wind fanning my face. "It's about doing what's right."

"Which is what this city needs," he agreed. I couldn't help but dwell on the condition of his voice…I knew it was a device to keep his secret identity intact, but it was extremely low and grating on the ears. "I never had the chance to thank you for it."

"Batman is thanking me?" I pondered incredulously, quirking a clever brow.

He hardly insinuated a nod, and not even a twinkle of amusement crossed his stony features. I let my expression falter back into all seriousness as he began to fade back into the darkness from whence he had come, when I stopped him.

"Why didn't you do it, just out of curiosity?" I asked, peering into the silhouette of his back. "Anyone else would have jumped on the chance if they were given it. Why didn't you kill him when you had the chance?"

"The same reason that drove you to care for him when no one else would," he rasped, his voice as dark as the shadows that surrounded him. "I don't derive justice from taking life, no matter how twisted or depraved that life really is."

I frowned thoughtfully, realizing how truly pathetic it was that it seemed only Batman and I shared the same thoughts. I'm sure there were more out there that were driven by this force of civil rights like we were, but at the moment it seemed like we were outcasts in an unsympathetic world.

"I suggest you get a cab, Miss Grant," he recommended lightly. "Just because the Joker is out of the picture doesn't mean this city is safe to walk at night."

He vanished into thin air, like a conjurer hiding behind his worldly tricks.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Holy crap on a stick! ****I'd like to give a special shout out to all my reviewers! ****Thank you to: Joker88, Corlin, NicolinaN, JCL, Muse with Wings, shiva, Othello101, Lady Willow Rose, K.D. Sparrow, Stefanie, moment forever faded, heyepic, anonycat, Keeper-of-the-Cheese, Copper Candy, LSD, Kagirinai, ilies mides, padfoot-was-here1, Vanafindiel, Nyeh Creampuff, KatxValentine (CLEAVE!;D) and Queen of Randomness for taking the time to give your opinion on this story !**

**And I'm also taking ilies mides' suggestion in making this chapter longer. ;D Thanks again everyone ! A****nd now, onto the regular copyright drill.**

**Disclaimer - The Joker and Batman belong to DC Comics. Chelsea Grant belongs to me. ****Enjoy ! :D**

(7/6/09 - Hey everyone! I think I'll be revamping this everyday, just so I feel like I got something done everyday, what with this dry spell...headaches, ugh. They're sucking the life outta me! Anyway, while I wait, this will be edited. As I explained earlier, first the Joker dialogue. Then I'll go back to everything else. And just to get things moving, I might edit two more today. Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my work! It is greatly appreciated!)


	4. Provoking Ambiguous Waters

He somehow made it possible to read _A Clockwork Orange_, _Frankenstein_ and _The Phantom of the Opera _in a span of two days.

This baffled me, being a simple reader who could hardly read six pages in a day, and was naturally slow when it came to digesting the information presented by the ideals of the author. In laymen's terms, I was slow and awkward when it came to classic literature, and though I was not exactly stupid, I wasn't an Einstein either. My intellect was that of the average passerby in the street; against the mythological fiend, it seemed dwarfish and unseemly.

The Joker had an intellect seemingly above many others, maybe even more so than most of the doctors that paced these whitened halls. But his intelligence was overshadowed by his proceeding reputation…it tarnished all hopes of making him out to be a genuinely interesting person, as opposed to being the city's most despised monster.

Another sleepless night plagued my ability to think properly. I couldn't tell if it was the extra pressure of having the Joker under my timid care, or the fact that he prided himself on making my nerves squirm whenever we were in conversational distance of one another. I made it a point not to let myself react to his digging, knowing that would only make him want to do it more. He seemed to like getting a rise out of people just for kicks, but I figured if I was used to having the entire city as my own personal game of Battleship like him, I would be bored to bits and be terrorizing people too.

So, to keep him busy, I had decided to keep bringing him books until I could cook up something less intellectual for him to do. Reading gave people ideas, and the books I knew he was interested in had very many potent philosophies that he could integrate into the annihilation of Gotham. I might have already turned my back on the city and its tendency for being cruel, but I didn't want to destroy it…it was my home, and giving the loon these novels was beginning to make me feel very self-conscious about what it was I was really doing. Providing notions and schemes…not a good idea.

After putting the books in my bag and thinking about other ways to entertain the monster, it all went downhill from there. I tried to sleep, but my mind was constantly prickling with little worries that even I couldn't understand. They were like warnings, but I couldn't make them out amongst the foggy daze. I must've rolled over about a hundred times during the night, and even resorted to counting sheep as I lay on my back. Around three in the morning, I found it wasn't working, and tried to count the designs in the ceiling…I couldn't remember anything after counting to a thousand, so by then I must've fallen asleep.

It was cold as I walked outside my door, the frigid air nipping at my cheeks and turning them an irate shade of red. I was desperately craving a decent cup of coffee, since I hadn't had one in only God knows when, so I made a pit stop at a coffee shop just a few blocks down from the hospital. I could take a cab from there, so I wouldn't be late…and maybe I would feel a little less like a mindless drone when I got there.

As soon as I walked into the place I knew I was going to be waiting a while; they place reminded me of a zoo. Most were corporate lions, chatting on their phones about business deals while the rest of the world went on without them. Others were single moms with kids jerking on their arms, asking for a wide variety of things from hot chocolate to something as completely bizarre as a cheeseburger from McDonalds. I tuned out the nonsensical buzz, trying to stay awake as I rocked back and forth on my heels, going out of my mind with exhaustion.

"Good morning, ma'am. What can I get you today?" The voice had a bit of a drawl to it, and I expected she was from some other state. But it woke me from my thoughts and redirected my focus, as weak as it was without rest, onto the order menu. I never knew what to get at these places since I always just suffered the coffee in the staffroom.

"Erm- Hold on a second, I have no idea what I want yet." I stammered bashfully, feeling my cheeks heat up with sweltering embarrassment.

Someone scoffed impatiently behind me.

"Well, our special today is our Peppermint Chocolate Latte. Would you care to try it?" She offered, looking much too bright and perky considering the inhuman time I found on the clock just behind her head. It was barely six.

"Sorry– peppermint in coffee? Isn't that a little weird?" I grimaced at the thought. I hardly liked the taste of anything after brushing my teeth or chewing on a piece of minty gum. How could those two things possibly taste good together?

"Well, I don't know. I've never tried it." She admitted, looking exasperated by my unexpected question.

I heard a restless foot tapping somewhere in the growing line formation. That really did not tone down the pressure on me; if anything, it made it worse.

"Uh, oh jeez," My eyes breached halfway through the fizzy haze in front of my vision and I could see a little of the menu again. "What's your favorite then?"

She perked right back up from her wilted expression. "Mine? I _really_ love the Carmel Mocha Latte."

"Oh for the love of Jesus Christ!" Someone cried out, their voice berating, probably the same person that had been making those intolerant gestures.

"Okay, I'll just get that then," I smiled grudgingly, slightly annoyed by that person that followed just after me in the line.

"Your total will be three fifty two."

I moved out of the way and let the balding, yet scruffy man go in front of me. I never could really see the logic in being unruly when someone couldn't make up their mind…it only made them feel even less decisive, and they ended up waiting longer. But I kept my own opinion to myself. Such things weren't prudent to be spoken in public…and I had at least a little bit of a filtering system.

Luckily, Caramel Mocha Lattes didn't take too long to make, or else I would have been late to work when I walked out to a bustling city absolutely full of people adamant about stealing cabs from girls without suits and ties. I looked down at my garb and realized how utterly stupid I looked with my hospital uniform on, but it shouldn't make any difference…I had feelings and work curfews to follow, just like they did. But the fact was, nurses in Gotham weren't highly respected like lawyers and cops. It was the people that saved the city that got all the credit, not the ones who nursed them back to health.

I could care less, really, but it was the fact that I couldn't get a cab to save my life that irked me. At last, I was able to catch one, after the flock of impudent people had gone away, and to save time, I threw a twenty at the guy, so that I could dash out of the car as soon as he had stopped.

The hospital seemed in less of a rush today, but still the number of patients was at an all time high. A lot of them were victims of the Joker's darkly ingenious activities as he blew up half of the city and left it in a tangled mess of debris and rubble when he walked off to find something else to destroy. Some were involved in different ways, like being shot by one of the Joker's goons or had run in with one of his friends. I'm sure he had many…a man so well equipped with a severely warped brain surely found that there was never really a limit as to how many knives one can have on their person.

This time, when I walked through the halls, I could pride myself upon not having to drink that horrendous coffee just to stay awake. Of course I looked haggard and beat up from my tussle with Miranda that had happened the day before, but other than the occasional second glances I earned from passing nurses and qualified doctors, I walked through the corridors without any grief or hassle from my co-workers.

Until I reached the staffroom.

He'd been waiting for me, I suppose. I could tell by the way he sat there, his arms crossed lazily, his eyes gazing off in the distance as if in deep thought. I wouldn't say it out loud, that I was really beginning to hate being harassed by this guy for everything, tired of listening to the droning sound of his voice. But I couldn't voice my opinion…I couldn't risk being fired.

"Dr. Smithland?" I caught his attention and he visibly snapped to attention ,the far away look in his eyes disappearing until an entirely different emotion clouded his irises…anger.

"You have some nerve, Grant! I could have you fired for this, and there where would your little experiment be, huh? Out in the garbage, that's where!" His voice had risen to a shout, and outside the staffroom, we were beginning to attract curious stares. My head began to throb with pain and my ears rang uncomfortably from the spontaneous loud noise that had ripped throughout the entire room like a tidal wave.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but I have to feed him somehow. And since you can't do it, I figured out my own way to store the supplies." I take another drink of my coffee as his nose twitches and his jaw clenches in his sudden rage.

"You can't just put all of it in the staff's refrigerator! That's where we keep our food, Miss Grant. This is not a safe haven for freakish criminals…if you want to keep him here, you'll have to find your own means of keeping it stored in the right conditions without inconveniencing us."

"There is nowhere else to put it, doctor-"

"I don't care, Grant. Just get it out of there before your shift starts or you're fired. Got it?"

He stormed out of the room before I could protest, and I was left alone in the empty room. I slumped into a seat nearby, finishing my coffee that now tasted bitter in light of my newest predicament. Where would I be able to store all of that food? It would rot if I couldn't find proper storage for it. But that was just it…they were trying to sabotage my every attempt to keep him alive. They wanted him to die…that way they'd get their revenge, so they could glorify themselves and make it seem like they were the heroes of this conventional place.

But in the end, they would just be phonies.

I couldn't let it happen.

I weaved my way through the throng of white coats toward the kitchen, where the spare miniature refrigerator was kept. They stared at me as I pulled the dolly out of the kitchen closet, their eyes following every move I made as I propped it beneath the bottom of the refrigerator and held onto it as I wheeled it out of the room. But none of them said anything; they didn't dare breathe a word.

I think they were afraid of me, in some strange way. There were rumors floating around the establishment about me, I wouldn't doubt the truth of at least _that_…I'd even heard some when they thought I wasn't listening. But I heard them, and I couldn't care any less anymore.

He didn't say a word when I came reeling in with a dolly and a refrigerator in tow, just merely watched me as a scientist observes the dealings of his estranged hypothesis. I searched for the outlet, the tricky little thing hiding behind visitor's chairs that were empty and dust-ridden from entirely no use. But the entire time, I felt his eyes on my back, studying me in my natural habitat as I looked for that irritating wall outlet. It made my skin crawl and perspire, just knowing he had something despicable swirling behind those knowing, scornful eyes of his. His tongue leapt from that slowly fading red mouth and snapped toward his ragged scars as he watched.

I plugged the refrigerator into the wall and listened as it slowly boosted into power with a determined little hum, and I recognized that sound as one I associated with the Joker and his wild-eyed deliberations. But I turned and clapped my hands together, ridding them of the dust, trying to keep our eyes separated as I knew I'd become certainly tongue tied if I allowed him the chance to catch my gaze.

I ghosted through the room, my footsteps much too quick to leave any remnants of sound in my wake. He was making me excessively nervous today, with all that talk of gory murder…it made me think he was planning something repulsive, if not with me than with someone just as, if not more, ignorant than I was.

By the time I returned with the box full of food again, he was still awake, twiddling his thumbs like a child stricken with boredom. He was humming again, another habit I'd grown used to over the last three days. It sounded like something cheerful, like something one would hear in a favorite, old time sitcom from the better days. But coming from those caked, faded lips, it came forth as eerie…the voice of a malevolent specter trying to pass his shallow days by haunting poor souls and scaring them out of their wits for the sheer hilarity of it.

"So, uh…_Chel-see_. I can call ya _Chel-see_, can't I, toots?" He suggested casually, as if invoking some lighthearted conversation. "I ah – got a little riddle for you."

I was in the middle of stacking the little rectangular boxes into the icebox when he piped up with this perplexing statement. The look on my face must've been a mix between some tangling emotions; he cocked his head at me inquisitively, trying to dig through the conflicting waves of feeling on my face. He hated being confused…it just made him like us, and he despised Gotham's citizens enough that he didn't want to be related to them in any manner if he could prevent it.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he leered, hurling a coin he'd undoubtedly stolen from the floor, when he'd sneakily gotten out of bed. Perhaps he'd found it on the bathroom floor…I couldn't tell. The coin pegged me in the forehead…the man had impeccable aim. I rubbed at the mildly sore spot, but hid my annoyance at his childish amusements.

"Oh, uh…" I dropped my hand, feeling the tenderness on my forehead begin to dissipate. "What's the problem?"

"Nuh, no, no. Not a prob-_lem, _sweets. A conun-_drum_," he corrected, his eyes rolling upward as if immersed in thought. "What's ah – smooth and mean and likes to _bleed_?"

His eyebrows danced wittingly…he always did like to personify everything from his precious knives to emotions. But knives were more tolerable and friendly toward him than emotion, since sentiment was something that made him feel much too human for comfort. Then again, if I was as reclusive as he was and shut myself away from the world, I would fabricate friends and enemies out of loneliness too. It was all a gimmick, but behind all that fissured face paint and the scarlet-stained scars, he was just a man trying to deal with his unwanted feelings.

"Oh," I muttered dully, configuring the misleading riddle. "Oh, you ripped your stitches."

I figured it had something to do with his stitches ripping, by the way he said _tickle _like it had felt good. He had this fiendish taste for pain, a regular masochist straight from the loony bin. He was even more so restless today than he'd really ever been, and it made me anxious to be in the same room with him. But I didn't want to have to keep him here longer than I had to, and if I didn't keep those stitches together properly, he'd be here for a long, _long_ time.

"Well, uh," I swallowed hard, trying to revive a bit of moisture to my dry, swollen tongue. "I guess I could take a look."

"You're just the gift that _keeps_ on givin', aren't you?" He grinned, but it was not one of gratitude. It seemed secretly sadistic, like he wanted to hurt me, as if he was craving the sound of a scream after going so long without hearing its musical fear course through his ears for three days, perhaps more. "Keep this little _char_ade and I'll be forced ta think you're ah – _com-pen-sat-ing_ for some_thing_."

I gingerly unwrapped the gauze from around his thin, pale abdomen, immediately finding it soaked in dried blood. Only a portion at the end had come undone, and I sighed in relief…it would be easier to re-stitch than having to do the whole thing over again.

"This is going to have to –" I made the mistake of looking up into his hollow eyes, forgetting for a moment exactly who I was tending to. My thoughts became jumbled, and I tripped over my addled words. "Uh..do that then, before I go back to work."

"Well, aren't you a _sain_t? Wasting your _free_ time with us lowly mortal sinners down here," he wheezed out a spine-chilling chortle. "And I thought the Bats was the only nut that tried to solve the ah – the _unsolvable_."

The tone in his voice concerned me…it wasn't mocking, nor was it dark and hidden beneath a veil of incalculable anger. There was a whole new attribute added to it, and it confused me , even as I looked up into his besmirched face to find it contorted into some new bewildered expression, like he was trying to attack some new unanswered question he faced.

I left the room to gather my tools, all the while being tormented by that angry look of puzzlement on his whitened complexion. Was there something going on in that head that I didn't know about? I could only hope that it didn't have something to do with a controversy over blood and guts or confusion and chaos. But the Joker had a one –tracked mind…somehow I couldn't keep that haranguing doom over my shoulder that told me he was up to no good.

I knew that I was late…and I got reprimanded for it on way back toward the gloomy, abandoned wing where I had been trying to get to in a hurry. Of course, I wasn't usually late and he gave me just a warning for my tardiness, but still, I was getting in over my head…things just didn't work out the way they used to, and I was slowly slipping beneath the tumultuous waters here.

I was walking through the door with my bag of tools when a knife came hurling at me from the direction of his bed. Out of any normal reaction, I shrieked and ducked out of the way, dropping my sterilized tools in the process. Luckily they were in a bag, and they just got tossed around a little bit…nothing they couldn't handle.

I tried to refocus on breathing, much less his illogical ramblings about blaming his own inhumanly vicious ambitions on his inanimate switchblade.

Already, the bruises around his skin were turning a deep, profound color of purple, a natural reaction to the abrasive marks left behind by the knife that had inflicted that nasty wound on him and also the stitches. I had to weave the split ends of the stitches from his heavily bruised skin and snip it at one of the ends, where I would begin with a new set of steel-like string. All the while, as I threaded the needle and worked it back into his flesh, he didn't make even the slightest sound of pain…in fact, he would giggle like I was tickling him. He was enjoying it, and half of me wondered if he'd ripped his stitches intentionally, just to be sewed back up again and feel the exhilaration and tingling sensation of pain.

I'd glance up into his face during the process sometimes, finding fleeting little remarks left unspoken in his gaze. His brow was knitted into deep nuances of concentration, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion, like he was studying some foreign object and couldn't quite figure it out, but was nonetheless fascinated by the idea of it.

I rushed through the last three weavings and clipped the end, tying it securely before reaching for the lubricated gauze.

At this, I had to lift his body so that I could rewrap the gauze around his abdomen again. An irrational little thrill pulsated through me as my fingertips touched his soft, warm skin, and I immediately flinched away from the feeling, which made me rush through that process as well.

How could I have possibly enjoyed that? Even I couldn't give a reasonable explanation for that. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible before even more unexpected and unwanted happenings began to surge out of the woodworks, but I had to give him his means of humble entertainment first.

He smirked at me when I glanced up from the neatly wrapped gauze, that same arrogant gesture I associated with the fact that he knew something I didn't. I closed his shirt hastily and focused my attention back on my bag, where I'd stashed all the stuff the night before.

"Oh, and, uh, here, I brought you some more stuff to keep yourself busy with," I reached for the bag hanging limply over my shoulder and sifted through its contents, pulling out three new novels for him to read…_Animal Farm_, _1984_ and _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. He huffed openly at the sight of more books, but became instantly fascinated when I pulled out an untouched edition of Sudoku.

"Ah, yes yes - fuel for the _fire_. Now we're cookin' with gas, girly _gir_ly. Filling my empty little head with such gorgeous ideas. You know what it is they say?"

"A lot of things." I mumbled, afraid of his answer.

"Now, that's not a very _im-a-gin-ative_ thing to say, is it? That's just _generalization_, girly girl. The world wants concrete. They live for it. They clamor for it so uh- so they have something to _hold onto_ as their life slips. Slowly. Down. The. _Drain_."

He paused for effect. And I was the cause, the gradual breakdown happening behind the stoic mask.

"Isn't that how it goes, _doctor_? The society drones…they go _cer-azy_ for the sidewalks, _don't they_?"

I remained silent.

"_Don't they?!" _He roared, and suddenly the room was full with him. Sated so that the very essence of his monstrosity, seemingly so frail in his condition, embraced me with the chill of its being and the claustrophobic fear settled in.

I shuddered and closed my eyes against the undulating rage that emanated off his svelte figure, strangling me in its fervor.

"Y-yes…they do."

"That's right. And _you_ do too, girly girl. _Chel-see_. You're doing it now, aren't ya? Counting the ah – the _minute_s until you can _es-cape_ me. Because time, it's _con_crete for now. It's here and now that's really here, not _then_. The future is _anarchy_ with its best face slathered on, _toots_. It's the _never knowin'_ that gets people goin'."

He snatched the pen out of my grasp and the Sudoku volume, turning to the first puzzle and scooting a little more comfortably into his cot, his eyes glazed over at the thought of having something more productive to do than simply gazing at a page of words.

I left him his breakfast, his books and a large supply of pens just in case he got bored with Sudoku and began flinging them across the room for amusement, and then left him alone in there, in that dark, sinister little room.

But I was satisfied. The idea of him building some sort of explosive out of thin air was put off a little bit longer…at least for now.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, so I'm officially going to make this story longer. There's too much development and complexities to conjure up for this particularly interesting relationship between these two, and naturally I want to do it gradually, and right. So this might end up being a lot longer than I'd expected. **

**AND A SPECIAL THANKS: ****Thank you to all the reviewers ! I'm afraid I can't do a shout out this time because there's just waaaaaaay too many to name without it taking all day. ;D  
I also used Kat's suggestion for more books to read. :)**

**These are getting longer, aren't they ? Oh well ! I'm sure you guys like longer chapters anyway.**

**Disclaimer - The Joker belongs to DC Comics. Chelsea belongs to me.**

(7/6/09 - Just the routine reminder that this story is undergoing a major revamp. Enjoy the new additions!)


	5. Dangerous Thinking

**Author's Note:**

**I seriously can't believe it...105 reviews!? You guys are awesome.**

**Thanks to all of you who gave suggestions ! I used a couple of them, like LSD's idea for a model kit and Keeper-of-the-Cheese's suggestion for crossword puzzles !**

**SPECIAL THANKS !**

**...to all my awesome readers. I love you guys...you're making it so easy to write this story. :D**

**KatxValentine...go read her story. It's too awesome for words, like she is. ;)  
****Also! Some questions that have been answered, if any of you have been wondering...**

1._Why would chelsea let the Joker keep his knife?_

_-_**Good question !Actually, right now she's too intimidated by him to go against his will, so ****she acquiesces just so she can avoid being stuck like a suckling pig. So it's  
out of submission, really...just to keep him happy, per say, even though she knows he won't kill her because she's useful for now. However, the thought of being stabbed or otherwise mutilated doesn't sound like a pleasant time to her, so that's pretty much why. :**

2. _Is the joker going to develop some kind of feelings for her?_

-**Yes he will! But while I will assure you that it won't be love at all, something more of sick fascination and obsession like he has with Batman,  
I won't be telling you when these feelings will surface, or else that would  
ruin the story. ;)**

3. A_round how old are Chelsea and the Joker in this?_

_-_**I'm thinking Chelsea is around 26 or 27. And the Joker is around 28 or 29, based off Heath Ledger's age.  
Roughly..Chelsea is fresh out of med school. :P**

**It was also asked, though I can't quote it because I can't remember where the question surfaced, where the cops are during all this. Well, Gordon is searching for the Joker with all fervor, but he can only do so much while taking care of the other criminals, who find it easier to run around and do whatever they please with the Joker gone. Now, the hospital is too cowardly to squeal to Gordon about the Joker's whereabouts...they know that, when the Joker gets out of the hospital and if he gets arrested, he'll attack the hospital knowing who ratted him out. So there you go. :D**

**Anyway, if you have any more questions, I will be happy to answer them!  
Thanks for reading !**

**The Joker belongs to DC Comcs.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**I apologize for the insanly long author's note. xD**

* * *

It was my day off, and I hardly knew what to do with myself. I felt so useless, lying there in bed after actually having a good night's sleep. It always seemed to evade me when I needed it most, but sleep was a tricky fellow when it came to good timing and necessity.

I tried not to dwell on the fact that I felt useless and got out of bed as soon as the sun was fully uncovered from her shadowed blanket as she rose from the eastern sky. For once, I was allowed the indulgence of tea as opposed to the usual nauseating cup of coffee I utilized to keep myself away during the less wakeful hours of the day, such as when my restless nights would become too much and I would slip into a hazardous daze. Being unresponsive in a hospital was not the smartest way to work, being that it was extremely easy to let a needle slip or maybe even accidentally administer the wrong medications. I didn't want to be responsible for an unnecessary death, and figured I could take a little frustration in exchange for an innocent life.

At breakfast, I was actually given time to savor it instead of choking it down, like I was usually forced to do. I sat at the table, a book in hand, with a steaming cup of English tea in my hand next to a bright, yet seasonally cold window. I had a blanket wrapped around myself to ward off any chill that had come in through my broken window during the night, sitting on the old, broken down easy chair in front of my plain, rather small television set. It wasn't an extravagant room, but it worked well for a young, lonely nurse fresh out of college, just trying to get by on her long hours and mediocre income.

But it wasn't the day to dwell on problems, and tried to divert my attentions from daily worries to the book I was trying to read.

By eleven, I'd abandoned all hope of settling down and relaxing into the plot of a book. Instead, I headed out to the local supermarket with a desperate need for groceries and a food list in hand. Like usual, it was never busy during the working hours, except for a few senior citizens and some stay at home moms taking some free time while their kids were at school and their husbands off at work. I felt out of place in my regular jeans and a plain, ratty t-shirt…I was so used to wearing scrubs that I'd forgotten what it felt like to wear casual clothing.

On my way toward the check out line, I spotted an entertainment aisle and it sparked my interest for other means of entertainment for the Joker. Most of them were toys for little kids, like cheap, plastic squirt guns and princess coloring books, but I could recall easily that he'd mentioned his serious dislike for guns, and that he'd probably just break the toy into a million pieces if I even dared give it to him. But in the end, I found some potential items like crossword puzzles and some inexpensive model plane sets for people with devoted hobbies.

I picked up a few tablets of puzzles and a battleship model set, knowing he liked things that were built for obliteration, and that it might even give him something to do during those long hours spent sleeping and twiddling his thumbs, if he weren't actually reading or thinking about bombs and Batman. He had this obsession with the Batman…like he was fascinated, but he couldn't quite figure out what made the man behind the mask tick.

It was around one thirty when I rendered myself completely worthless and feeling like I couldn't find anything amusing to do except drive around aimlessly looking for distractions from my boring, unfruitful life. Work was the priority…I'd never given myself any time for relationships, and most of my friends from medical school had moved on to bigger and better things. I was sad to admit that I was a reclusive workaholic with nothing better to do than spend all of her time stitching up bleeding wounds and curing chronic stomachaches.

I seriously needed to consider getting a real life.

I passed the day with a cheesy romance movie that left me feeling chipper and go lucky, then walked around the park with a bag of white bread, feeding the ducks at the pond. They quacked raucously at me, begging for more even after they ate the entire bag.

After a while I started feeling guilty just sitting there, letting them stare at me, trying to probe me silently into giving them more bread when I didn't have any left, and walked off to admire the scenery on a calming walk. The trees were bare, stricken by the chill of autumn as it had settled over Gotham , and the ground was littered with a different variety of vividly colored leaves, from buttery yellow to scarlet red...which got me to thinking about my patient at the hospital, and chased me out of the park with such dangerous thoughts filling my head.

The fact that I couldn't wait to get to the hospital, which I'd planned around six, was beginning to bother me. I figured it was just the plaguing sensation of feeling useless that invoked the strong thrill of excitement that poured through me, that idea of having something actually helpful to do out of the entire waste of a day I'd spent ambling pointlessly around the city. It might've been, too, that I was a little concerned with leaving him there by himself, with all of those people out to get him, those same ones that had been directly hurt by his killing sprees and countless bombing that left them without mothers, fathers, siblings and close friends. Either way,

I wasn't really expected at work, but after leaving him snack foods all day since I wouldn't be there and thinking he might get hungry for real food after eating crap for twelve hours, I'd made secret intentions of showing up with something maybe a little less disgusting as hospital food. I couldn't blame the guy for not wanting to eat the stuff…the few times I'd been admitted there, I'd always hated the food.

I decided on spaghetti from an Italian shop across the street from the park, a secret gem I liked to go to when I was too lazy to make dinner and wanted to escape the confines of my little apartment. It was dimly lit for a romantic mood, which sometimes made me feel out of place amongst the couples sharing pasta over a bottle of dark, warm wine, but I usually wasn't too wounded by the comfortable settings.

The manager was soft and sweet, a foreigner who'd made his way in the city with only his wife and ten dollars in his pocket after immigrating from Italy…I always thought of how interesting he was as a person, and always came back just to keep his small business thriving.

To say that I wasn't exactly welcomed when I walked through those doors with a bag of Agostino's spaghetti in my hand, looking conspicuous in my casual wear, was an understatement. I received a few glowers, while some just brushed past without even a look, too weary to really care about the outcast coming in on her day off. They all knew why I was here, and I think some of them were brazen enough to entertain the idea that I was beginning to grow obsessed with my patient. It was safe to say some of them thought I was going crazy.

I didn't really care what anyone thought anymore…perhaps, if it had been a few months ago, when I'd just began working at Gotham General and was looking for acceptance, I would've been deeply offended by their theories. But by now, I'd already given up hope that they cared even a speck about me, and I was just that dirt they tread through on the way to work that ended up putting blemishes on their perfectly white shoes. In other words, I was just something to wash from their minds, like wiping the dirt off their soiled shoes.

Something seemed off as I walked down the shadowed corner of the hospital, the squeak of my battered sneakers the only sound that resounded off those barren white walls. But it wasn't just the silence; I was used to that. It was the heavy air that made the atmosphere seem overwrought, like a disaster was about to happen, or something terrible was going to be unveiled.

My body tensed in reaction, and my eyes darted fervently from side to side, spanning the darkened rooms where any prospective dangers might lurk beneath the tendrils of shadows obscuring my inadequate eyes. But I continued on, trying not to let my own paranoia get to me…I had a mission to complete.

I think part of it had to do with knowing I had to walk into that room again and be ready to dodge anything he happened to throw at me if he was in that sort of mood. His temperament was hard to follow, and sometimes it left me breathless trying to catch up and figure out what was going on while he moved on, changing to different subjects or suddenly start talking about the strangest things.

Batman was his favorite subject…sometimes he'd go off on tangents about 'his toy', the Batman, and I couldn't help but furrow my brow; he sounded like a cat slapping its paw at a mouse, but this was different. The Joker didn't ever want to kill Batman…he wanted to torment him with his mind games for _eternity_.

I opened the door and that familiar creak reached my ears. It was quiet when I walked in, the light I'd left on still constant as it illuminated that little corner where he'd previously thrown my spare Bible. He didn't seem to be moving, but wasn't in his special sleeping position either. This piqued my interest…had he just fallen asleep without curling up before slipped from consciousness?

I set the bag of spaghetti on the food tray nearby, finding it littered with books and a Sudoku book half finished already, opened up to a page with scrawling, awkward numbers printed by his exuberant hand. I glanced up from the bag and found his skin extremely colorless, like he was drained of all aspect of color pigmentation. This worried me, and I grabbed his hand, checking his pulse. It was conspicuously slow…

As if he was at the verge of death.

"Hey," I spoke timidly, careful not to get too close to that other hand that lay seemingly motionless at his side. "Hey, wake up. I'm here with food, cause I thought you might be hungry."

He didn't stir. I suddenly noticed how extremely cold his hands were.

Oh God…Oh God…what was happening? Had someone poisoned him while I was gone?

I stormed out of his room toward the front desk, where I pounced on the clerk as she hung up the phone.

"What did you people do to him? How long is this going to go on, huh? With you trying to kill him when he's off his feet?" My voice was loud, and it arose some speculation from the passing nurses. They stopped and stared at me, some even interrupting their conversations with other doctors to listen to my raving. "What did you do?!"

"I- I didn't do anything, Chelsea. You know well enough that no one goes down there except for you." She stammered, looking up at me, her eyes wide behind her thickly rimmed glasses.

"I saw Miranda go down there today," someone spoke meekly behind me, and I turned around to see one of the interns stepping forward. "I don't know why, but I saw her go down there about ah…twenty minutes ago?"

"Where is she?" I snapped viciously, and the girl looked taken aback by the fury spreading like a fan across my face.

"In the staffroom, last time I checked," she advised, and I lumbered off toward the designated location, stifling the urge to pummel her arrogant face into the wall when I'd barged through the door, finding her very much alone in there, which made the antagonism swell even more.

"Well, well…Chelsea Grant. You just can't keep away, can you?"

"What the hell did you do to him!?" I shrieked, and I could swear the entire room had begun to shake with the sound of my voice. I couldn't' tell if it was my own shaking that was making the world quiver or the first scenario…all I knew was that I wanted to wring her neck until she sputtered for mercy and her face turned a cold shade of deathly blue.

"What did I do?" She gestured to herself innocently. "It's nothing I did, Chelsea. I just gave him what he wanted. He wanted to sleep, so I gave him some sedatives."

"You're not even supposed to be down there, Miranda," I seethed.

"Who says?" She took a long drink from her soda can, looking up at me with derisive eyes. "You? Last time I checked, you don't make the rules around here."

"How many dosages did you give him?"

"Oh, about four…he looked really tired. I thought he could use a deep sleep."

"That could kill him!"

"Then I'll be doing him a nice big favor, won't I? And the city too…you can thank me later."

"You're a bitch," I hissed, and stomped out of the room in my hissy fit, a new sense of urgency coming on as I made for the medical storage room. There, I retrieve the Dialysis Machine...it seemed the most prudent method of getting the poison out of his system, the most thorough at least.

It was hard to lug such a heavy object down the hallways, and it rose some suspicion as to what I was doing with it as I rolled it down the corridors. Luckily, the doubtful looks began to grow less as the bustle receded and I passed into the deserted wing of the hospital, where I hurried into his room, finding him in the same sort of comatose condition, but by now he looked paler…if that was even possible for him.

I hooked him up to the machine, feeding the tubes into his veins carefully and letting the machine do its work while I watched it pump manually and worried on a nail. After a few minutes, I began pacing, hardly able to keep my heart from beating manically within my chest. This was all my fault…I never should have left him alone with all these people I knew hated him with a fervent passion to take advantage of the opportunity, especially with him in his vulnerable state.

It took several hours to complete the process ,a procedure that is usually spent in boredom as opposed to the tension I suffered as I waited around, the only sound the pumping of the dialysis machine as it cleansed the toxins from his veins. Throughout the hours, I noticed the pallor begin to fade from his skin, and as I became calmer, my agitation went away as well. I busied myself with sitting in the visitor's chair by his bed, staring absently at his quiet, painted face.

It took me a long time to realize that I had been gripping his warm hand, the rough skin hardened by callus. But I could hardly think of letting go when, even if the process was going smoothly, it could backfire at any time.

I needed the comfort, and tried to distract myself by tracing the lines in his palm; the little etched line of long life extended all the way to the base of his index finger, though it was awkward and tumbling in most places, which instilled a bit of absurd console in my head as I sat there, waiting for a response out of him. Even a flicker of animation in his face, or a twitch of those hideous scars…anything to signify that the dialysis was working.

Finally, by nine thirty, I turned off the machine and gingerly pulled the tubes from his veins, taping a bandage to the openings and wheeling the apparatus off to the corner before returning to his bedside and taking his hand again.

With him stuck in human mode again, I could easily observe him without trepidation. Even beneath all the cruddy, fading makeup, I could now easily outline the youthful face of a man not yet in his thirties, tainted by the scars and the evident vestiges of bloodlust darkening his features. There was stubble poking through the ashen-faced visage he wore, and I made a mental note to pick him up a razor and shaving cream, feeling more like a wife than an impassive nurse.

By ten, a cold sweat had broken out over his skin, which still gave off an insipid glow of pallor even though most of it had gone away during the dialysis. I let go of his hand for a moment and searched for a warm cloth in the bathroom, wetting it under the hot tap water before returning to my place, like a dutiful dog at the call of its master. Softly, and careful not to wake him from his troubled sleep, I dabbed at the beads of perspiration on his forehead, smearing the white pretense a little and a bit of olive-tinged skin shone through the artifice.

The hours ticked by without any signs of stirring on his part. He stayed there, still as a carved statue, with his hand in my moistened palm, a bit of the nervous sweating along with the naturally masculine heat of his skin making my fingers feel slick and dirty.

I kept the rag nearby, just in case he broke out in a cold sweat again…out of the twelve hours he was knocked out, he only had these cold perspirations about three times, and by the third, my rag had grown awfully cold.

It was dawn by the time I left my post and ventured over to the window to witness the sunrise. Over the dismal horizon there was a little dab of gold beginning to paint the lightening sky, as if a careless artist had smeared his yellow acrylics across a grayed canvas. The sun slowly began to rise from its somnolence, climbing higher and higher as the stars were snuffed out and declared their submission to the encroaching daylight, the moon all but a distant memory as she faded into the back, letting the sun take her rightful place on center stage.

He was so thoughtful, the moon. Never jealous or contrite, always gracious and understanding…he knew when to let go of petty things, when to let his precious sun take his place as ruler of the morning sky. He knew when to quit, knowing she would do just the same for him, when the spotlight turned on him.

They were the perfect couple, which was why sunrise and sunset were always the most fascinating times of the day for me. It only proved that love even existed in the heavens, where the celestial bodies created their own little worlds, existing in peace while we slowly sunk further into squalor.

I crossed my arms, protecting myself against the chill that had wafted through the airshaft in the corner of the room. This part of the hospital wasn't air conditioned or heated anymore, with it never being used anymore. They shut off all resources except for water down here, and left it to rot in peace without even the simplest notion of remorse.

No one really knew why the hospital refused to use the old wing anymore…but it came in handy this time, and I was glad that Batman had the brains to leave the Joker in the isolated parts of the vicinity.

By seven, the sun was fully risen from behind the eastern horizon, and I'd began to feel weak with exhaustion with the reminder that I'd stayed up throughout the entire night, like some nocturnal beast. The Joker had begun to show little indications of life…a twitch of his scars, perhaps a frown when he confronted a certain dream he didn't really care for. Now that he was so close to surfacing from his sleep, I didn't dare take his hand again…there was just that thought in the back of my head that he'd catch me in the act and get the wrong idea, then kill me for my impudence just for the thrill of it, despite my value.

My head was buried in my folded arms when I first heard him speak.

"Why-" His eyes lazily slid open, voice equally lazy lethargic as his tongue skimming along the edge of his stained teeth thoughtfully. "Is it that you...doc, find it hard to let go of me? You're getting much to ah - hummm...attached, sweets. And that's dangerous thinkin', even for a girl of your..._medical stature_."

And even as I watched that glossy red tongue flicker from between his serpentine lips, a sheen left to grace the curl of his conceitedly smirking lips, I could honestly say I'd never experienced the rush of relief that I felt right then, watching him gradually unfurl from his treacherous sleep.


	6. That Useless Sense of Justice

**Author's Note:**

**The reviewers for this story are AMAZING. You guys don't even know how inspiring the feedback on this story as been...it's been amazing!  
Thank you guys for all the compliments and suggestions!**

**Another question that was brought up real quick before we get to the story. :)  
Also, if happen not to notice...there's a bit of foreshadowing at the very end.  
Maybe you'll catch it, maybe not. But it's there for contemplation. :D**

_1.Wouldn't his makeup have faded away or been smeared off by now?_

**-Actually, if you guys have been wondering about this, by now it is really smeared and beyond the point of salvaging, but he refuses to take it off. This is a trust issue, because he doesn't want Chelsea to see the face behind the mask. However, she can already see skin, espcially on his forehead which was mentioned in the chapter before this one, and his scars are especially visible now that most of the paint on his lips has faded away. So, in a sense it has smeared off, but not all the way. :D**

**The Joker belongs to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me!**

**Thanks again for reading guys !:D**

* * *

As soon as I was sure that he would be alright on his own, and supplied him with food and drink to rejuvenate his strength, I had to hurry toward the check in segment of the hospital to clock in for my next shift. It was Monday, and I had to work.

I had half a mind to give Miranda a nice beating, put her to good use as my own personal punching bag. But when I had gone up to the front desk to have the clerk page her so I could give her a nice verbal lashing for her stupid mistake, the clerk gave me a look, one that grazed over the top rim of her glasses.

"Miranda just resigned this morning, Chelsea," she explained softly. "She doesn't work here anymore."

And that was that. I drifted off, satisfied with myself at least in the partial sense, and returned to my work.

I didn't think anything of it like it was really that important for a while, just that Miranda was a coward and that I would've liked to give her a piece of my mind before she left. But part of me was overwhelmed with a secret joy that I didn't have her in my hair anymore…the only one I had to deal with now was Dr. Smithland, and he wasn't drastic when it came to spoiling my efforts to keep the Joker alive. I could handle that fairly easy.

By the time my first break rolled around, I was fidgeting like crazy. Little jolts of electricity pounded through my veins, and it became even more obvious if I happened to stop or sit down. The latter might not have been often, with the hospital so busy and with a lot of people to take care of, but a many number of the patients would eye me carefully as they watched my fingers twitch and shake.

I couldn't exactly place this emotion into any reasonable category. There were a large number of possibilities, from being extremely exhausted from yet another sleepless night to pondering over the fact that Miranda no longer worked here, and by then I'd begun to realize she might have some diabolical scheme up her sleeve. It worried me, having her out of the picture now…there were many things she could do to this place, to the people here, now that she was out of harm's way.

It was nine by the time I arrived in the little room, and I noticed how much the tension had deflated since I'd left at six. He still looked a little too placid for his usual spirited moods, but he was safe from the overdose, and I was content with at least that.

"Mornin' bucko," he sang as I checked his I.V. fluids, hardly passing him even a nervous glance that I saved in the back of my head. "Ya look awful, kiddo. Might I suggest havin' a decent night's sleep for once instead of botherin' over me all the time? It works wonders…and you're startin' to look like me. Besides, I'm getting sick of lookin' at ya all the time."

I frowned at this as I watched him gesture to the creased, extremely faded face paint that hid all of the clandestine features he kept secret from the world. I couldn't help but wonder if this was even a digger directed toward me this time, but I saw the merry glint in his eyes and knew it was just another manipulation trick…trying to make it sound like he was joking about his own appearance, but in reality, he was really taunting me.

"You were also close to dying last night," I added, injecting a bit of saline solution into his I.V., an extra precaution against any leftover sedatives in his blood. "That's probably why you're not feeling well."

"Oh yeah…that one rigid, snarky bitch…."He swiped his tongue over his lips, which were now the color of light pink with most of the paint faded away, and clicked his tongue in a condescending way. "I tried to introduce her to my friend here, and I'm guessin' she didn't like him too much, even me if we're speakin' of dislikes here, so she told me she'd let me have a nice nap. Now I might be taking a wild leap here, but hummm-"He leered devilishly. "Maybe she just doesn't like _clowns_."

I couldn't help but smile at this; the comment was much too humorous to pass up a much deserved laugh. He obviously didn't like my reaction, however, and turned his head to look out the window while I removed the bandages where I'd inserted the tubes from the dialysis machine last night and checked if they were closing.

We matched glances for a moment as I replaced the tiny shreds of gauze over the small openings and looked up from my task. He still looked perplexed, but it wasn't necessarily a compliant sort of curiosity…he looked sort of angry, and self-preservation took over on my part, making me want to back away from that look in his eyes. I didn't want to risk any confrontations with that knife of his.

"We really should take that face paint off," I suggested, reaching for the now completely dried rag I'd left on his food tray the night before. "Most of it is gone anyhow."

"Ah, ah," His hand blurred as it snapped from beneath the covers, and the switchblade slid quickly from its sheath. "Nice try, _precious_. I'll give ya credit for being so ah – _sneaky_ there. But there's no way in this Hell or the next that you're touchin' this face with that there rag."

I eyed the knife closely, watching the point glimmer with a sort of yearning that kept me from bringing the rag closer to that muddled, stained countenance of his.

"Drop the rag, and I won't use my ol' trusty pal here on ya," His lips disappeared beneath that reptilian tongue of his, the corners of his mouth curling into a lecherous grin. "C'mon girly. You wanna keep that pretty face looking good, don't ya? You don't wanna end up lookin' like me, now do ya?"

The rag slipped between my fingers and landed with a noisy plop on the floor as I stared at that knife, feeling my heart thrash wildly in my chest and my breathing grow shallow and labored.

His throat rumbled with a sinister chuckle, and I averted my eyes from the knife to look at his face. "Aw, doc. Don't look at me like that, like I'm some – ah - _psychotic_ killer. We both know I'm somethin' much more glorious than that, something god-like…now don't make me sick him on you for insultin' me…he's been getting pretty feisty here, having been used to carving up pretty faces like yours before we landed ourselves in here, in this shithole. It's getting harder to control him, so you'd better not cross me or I'll let him have his way."

I stumbled over my feet a bit and tripped on the legs of the visitor's chair, landing right on the cushion and feeling a light gusty sensation rip from my lungs. He cackled manically, that one shrill, unbridled sound of cruel hilarity that I'd only heard once, but had heard even in my darkest nightmares. It sent long, exaggerated shivers coursing down my spine as he threw back his head like a hyena and laughed, looking especially mad in the way that his lips coiled into a malicious sneer and his blood red tongue slithered out of his mouth. Come to think of it, he looked like the devil himself in those crumpled white sheets, out of place…and out of his mind.

"Sweets, ya never cease to amuse me." He sighed, wiping an invisible tear from his eyelid, smearing the black soot surrounding his eyes. "Maybe that's why I keep you around…you're just like the Bat. An ignorant robot of civilized society with a useless sense of justice -which soon, my dear, won't help you at all and you can take that to heart – and a mighty good toy to smack around when I get happen to grow bored. But don't you worry, kiddo…I might just be too fascinated with the way you tick to get rid of you too soon."

I didn't know if it was a reaction to his boredom or the overdose on sedatives that made him act crazier than usual. But then my mind wandered back to a few minutes ago, when I dared suggest we wipe off that silly face paint. Biggest mistake I've made over the past five days he's been here.

Either way, I was eager to leave, and left him those crossword puzzles and that model kit that I'd bought for him the day before. He didn't thank me…he never really did, but I was hoping that giving him something to do while I was gone for another three hours would be good enough to cleanse that sadistic rotten streak from his system.

If only I'd known that our little encounter wouldn't be the only unnerving part of a day that was quickly turning toward the bad side of the spectrum.

I emerged from the quiet side of the wing and back into the typical activity, hearing phones ring and heart monitors beep from the surrounding rooms. My heartbeat began to slow again, and I sighed, wiping a bit of the perspiration from my forehead with my black, heart-patterned scrubs. I'd never felt so nervous around him before…but with the way he was acting, it was only normal that I responded in the way that I did.

Over the intercom, they suddenly called my name to the front desk. I was confused, but curiosity led me toward the front of the hospital, and the entire walk from the entrance to the Joker's wing to the reception desk was spent wondering what in the world they wanted now.

But as soon as I stepped from behind a corridor wall and found myself staring at the back of a charcoal gray head of hair, some of the strands threaded with white from too many years of stress, I knew exactly what they wanted. The police windbreaker gave it away, as did the recognizable black rimmed glasses and friendly mustache when the man waiting at the front of the hospital for me to show up turned and began skimming the area for any noteworthy employees or suspicious activity going on around him.

"Lieutenant Gordon?" I asked dubiously, stepping forward and watching as he whirled around at the mention of his name to face me.

"Ah, just the girl I was looking for." He warmly extended his hand, and I took it, wringing it twice with weary resignation. I'd been caught red handed.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at work, Miss Grant, but I have a few questions I wanted to ask you, if that wouldn't be too much trouble." His voice was extremely worn, undoubtedly tired from chasing criminals for half of his life. I noticed the worry lines etched into his forehead, but he had a kind face, and though inside I was beginning to unravel like a ball of yarn, I tried my best to smile calmly.

"It's no trouble at all, Lieutenant. Come this way and I'll get you a cup of coffee. You look absolutely bushed." I offered, motioning toward the staff room.

He nodded his head and began to follow, looking even more fatigued as he walked through the halls in his fatigued, yet proud gait. "Thank you, coffee sounds great."

I pulled out a seat for him and he sat down while I poured him a cup of coffee, hoping he hadn't noticed as half of it landed on the countertop with my hands shaking uncontrollably. He didn't seem to heed any notice, however, as he was pulling the pen I'd failed to notice had been propped behind his ear, and pulling a blank interrogation report from his clipboard.

"Sugar and cream, Lieutenant?" I inquired mildly, attempting to hide the tremor in my voice. All I could think of was that I was going to be arrested, or they'd find the Joker and arrest him…all of the scenarios playing out in my head didn't have good endings, and I feared the worst for my estranged patient.

"No thanks, Miss Grant," he said, casting a generous smile my way.

I handed him the Styrofoam cup and he thanked me, taking a long drink while I merely tipped my own cup to my lips and tried to make it look like I'd swallowed something. But my mouth was too dry and my throat much too filled with trickles of worry to swallow much of anything at the moment, and I set the cup down, my legs bouncing fiercely beneath the table as I waited for his questions.

"I'm going to be quick now, because I know you have to return to work," he began, adjusting the glasses perched on his straight nose. "This morning, at around eight o' clock, a Miranda Kensington came into the precinct and filed a police report, claiming she knew the whereabouts of the Joker," he paused again, trying to coax the ink from his pen as my stomach violently churned and I felt like throwing up. I handed him the pen in my pocket protector to speed up the process before I hurled all over his old shoes. "Thank you. Anyway, she said he was actually admitted into this hospital and that he was under your care."

He glanced up toward me after filling out the first half of the sheet, undoubtedly watching as my face grew paler and paler beneath the mounting pressure.

"Really, Lieutenant…the Joker, here, that's-"

"I promise you, Miss Grant, that if you comply we will not involve you. It's the Joker we want…we need him behind bars, and if he is here, we'll need to take him somewhere that he can be closely watched for any more criminal activity."

I gulped, feeling foolish tears forming behind my eyes. Why was I crying? I had no idea…all I knew that in a moment, I'd be wailing in front of the Lieutenant of the Gotham Police Department.

"Lieutenant, I-" I abruptly stopped as I tried to swallow the lie, but it didn't fare well against the mound in my esophagus, and it failed miserably, dying swiftly on my tongue before it could reach Gordon's ears.

"Please tell me the truth, Miss Grant. We can assure police protection if you'll cooperate."

By now, he was pleading. I could see it in the churning brown of his eyes. I was definitely a sucker when it came to entreaty, and I knew I had to confess before I suffered a mental breakdown right in front of him.

"Look, sir. The only reason he is here is because he is injured. Yes, the Joker is here, but I won't tell you where because it is much too soon for him to be moved. If you'll just give me two or three more weeks, I can have him fully healed and you can take him whenever you please."

A victorious grin spread across Gordon's exhausted features, and I couldn't help but feel my heart contradict itself as it wanted to soar for knowing I'd lifted someone's dampened spirits, but at the same time, wanted to sink into my toes because I knew I'd have to follow through with my word, and I didn't know if I would be able to hand him over to the cops just like that.

"Thank you so much, Miss Grant," he gushed as he filled out the rest of the report. "You've been a great help, to me and to the city."

We shook hands and he again thanked me for the coffee, which he took with him on his way out. I couldn't help but feel a little angry, even though I'd always admired Gordon for his tireless efforts to keep Gotham from turning into a wasteland…but Gordon and I shared the same views. We wanted what was best for Gotham, not what was best for ourselves.

However, knowing this just made my mood sink lower. By lunch, I didn't think I could face the Joker again, after knowing I'd just betrayed him to the cops out of my own undying 'useless sense of justice', as he'd audaciously put it. I didn't know if he'd be able to unearth the shame in my face, the one that always comes with knowing that I'd screwed up, and that I knew it.

I decided to put off going down there again by my lunch break, and sat in the staffroom, looking despairingly at an untouched salad. But I knew I'd have to venture back down there before I left, to make sure everything was in order and that his wound was healing alright. I promised myself I'd make it a point to keep it brief, and prayed to God he'd be asleep when I went in there.

God seemed generous today in answering prayers, because when I went in there to check on him, he was completely out, like someone had reached into his brain and flipped the off switch without any intention of turning it back on. He was curled up on his side again, his tangled, disheveled mop of green, wavy hair spread out behind him on the pillow, which was positively disgusting with all that face paint rubbed off onto the fabric. I stole across the empty hall for a moment, noticing how vile that pillow was getting, and snatched one of the old, dusty ones from one of the forsaken rooms. I pounded most of the dust off and gently removed the soiled pillow from beneath him, holding his head with one hand as I replaced the old cushion with the new, and noticed a bit of wild hair that had leapt over his forehead during the moving process. I swept it tenderly from his forehead, tucking it into the unkempt mess before moving away, leaving him to his dreams of explosives and chaos with a bit of food on his tray if he woke up and found himself hungry. Like usual, I left the light on in the corner and the spare flashlight by his bed, then I made straight for the check in wing of the hospital, where I handed my indicator to Bill and watched sullenly as he punched in the time.

"You have a nice night, Chelsea." Bill tipped his hat and cast me a smile. I tried my best to return it, and it seemed to work, as he gave no indication of finding it forced or plastic at all.

"You too, Bill. Take care of yourself." I turned away after pushing my card into my check out slot, and moved silently away, into the darkness of the cold, bitter night.

I jumped suddenly when a dark, hoarse voice came from the depths of the shadows in the nearby alleyway. But as I looked, my fears were smothered immediately as I looked into the stoic, masked face I'd accustomed with good faith and justice.

"I wish you'd stop doing that, showing up and scaring the living daylights out of me," I muttered, trying to calm my heart as it pounded in my chest like a frantic hammer.

"You're doing your job well," he observed with that heavy, coarse voice of his. "But it's almost time you hand over the reigns to Gordon."

"You sent Gordon?" I asked dubiously. Perhaps Miranda had only been a pawn in this misfortunate game…

"No, but I sent the girl to him. I persuaded her to give him a police report regarding the Joker's whereabouts. She was easily convinced."

"That's because she's done nothing but try and drive me crazy the entire time." I rubbed my arms to invoke a little warmth back into my freezing skin. Unlike him, I had no bat suit to keep me warm….I was just in my thin black scrubs.

"Either way, Gordon knows." His eyes narrowed more, if that was even possible. "You can't keep him locked away from the world forever. He's bound to escape when he fully heals, and then it'll be between him and me. You'll be completely out of the picture, and safe from harm."

The thought was supposed to comfort me, but it only made me feeling worse. I had glanced down at the ground in my discomfort at such an idea, thinking of some sort of rejoinder that would maybe convince him otherwise, that maybe I was still useful in his and Gordon's scheme.

But by the time I looked up, he was nowhere to be found, just the shadows swirling tentatively around the heavenly glow of light that surrounded me and locked me in its sanctuary…

Away from predatory darkness.


	7. A Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

**So, I can't thank you guys enough for all the generous feedback you've given me! It's amazing, and it really helps inspire me with all the encouragement I recieve from all of you!**

**I'm glad this isn't disappointing you, and that it's easy to relate to Chelsea.  
Hopefully I can keep on delivering a suitable Joker for all of you...he's a hard character to write about, you know?  
****  
SHOUT OUT TO KATxVALENTINE, who is simply teeming with awesomness with her own amazing story.**** ;)**

**I also used Happycookbook's**** suggestion in here about the book at the end.Thanks !!:D**

**So, onto the update! :D**

**The Joker and Lieutenant James Gordon belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**Also: I fixed the identical chapters...it was just a slip of my hand. xD I didn't do that on purpose. It was about one in the morning and I was really tired, so I was in a rush to get to bed. But it's all fixed ! So those of you who didn't get to read chapter 6, you can read it now! :D**

* * *

I had yet another sleepless night to scourge my bewildered head.

This time, I had a perfect reason to be tossing and turning in my bed, what with Gordon's intervention and Batman's crafty plans being devised behind my back. I was beginning to feel like a pawn, just like Miranda had only been a pawn on a board filled with knights and castles. The Joker was the King on the other side, and everyone was after the King, no matter how many pawns they had to stomp out before they got there.

I felt like a big stain on the world…irritating, but not important enough to do anything about.

So, it was nothing new walking into work the next morning with a desperate hankering for coffee. I could solemnly swear that I was beginning to form an addiction for the stuff, no matter how gross the condition of the drink is, if I didn't have an addiction going already. I walked into the staffroom after clocking in and poured myself a cup, not bothering to even touch the sugar and cream…there was no point in trying to fix something that was obviously broken in the first place and beyond repair.

I was beginning to notice that no one was bothering me anymore, not even Dr. Smithland, who'd constantly been in my face about the Joker being here, and under my care no less, for the first three days of his presence in the hospital. Now, he completely ignored me, and I was starting to like that when we passed in the hall, not one word came out of that worn, bedraggled mouth of his. He'd given up, much like the rest of the place, and just let me carry on with my little 'experiment' as they disdainfully called him, and paid no mind to my lapse of sanity.

Apparently, that's what they connected this whole affair to…my lack of good sense. Never mind that I'd been mentally sound the day before he'd arrived, that I was just as perfectly normal and able to think properly like the rest of them. No, I was now screwy in the head, something had magically snapped and rendered me completely crazy in the span of one day.

Their logic never ceased to amaze me.

But I had more problems to deal with other than the gossip of bored, senseless doctors, unbeknownst to me as I walked down the familiar quiet hall, the purse on my arm equipped with a soft sponge and a razor for the Joker when I was given a free moment to tend to him without interruption. He was in dire need of a bath, hence the reason for the sponge, and a good shave, as I'd observed from the stubble the day before. However, I was aware that he had trust issues with me, despite the fact that I'd saved him…twice. I knew I'd have to knock him out before even daring to lay one finger on him, and knew since I wasn't going to have enough time to do all these things now, I'd bring the sedatives along with me later when I came back during my lunch hour.

As soon as I walked in, though, I knew I wasn't going to have the chance to do any of those things.

There was a nervous cop standing there, his back against the wall, and a heavy gun at the ready in his trembling hands as he stared, wide-eyed and frantic, at a seemingly calm Joker. There were four knives sticking out of the wall around his head, and I realized I'd missed a nearly fatal game of dodgeball, this one used with blades instead of the safer alternative. The Joker, on the contrary, looked highly amused, a grin splitting evilly across his smeared, faded face.

"What is going on here?" I stalked through the open door, the heels of my shoes squeaking in protest as I walked.

The cop must've jumped at least an inch off the ground, and for a moment I thought he'd jump out of his skin from sheer nervousness. A little bead of sweat trickled down his sodden temple, and he stuttered, trying to catch his breath as he settled the gun down at his side when he caught sight of me and soaked in the fact that I wasn't there to hurt him…I was just part of the scenery.

"Oh, sorry miss," His voice wavered a little, but he managed to keep his words steady. "I didn't realize that the monster had a nurse…"

"Monster? No, no, no…that's – ah - _God_ to you, pissant." The Joker cackled, holding his sewn up abdomen as the spine-chilling laughs filled the entire room with its frightening entity. The cop visibly shuddered…I'd learned over the past six days to keep my own dread under wraps, knowing that the Joker didn't care for weakness such as fear and humility. It only made him feel stronger, and strength was not something I wanted to deal with when it came to someone as feral as him.

I ignored his comment and turned back to the cop. "Did Gordon send you?"

"Yes, miss. Is that a problem?" He looked slightly hopefully, perhaps thinking that if I didn't like the situation he could somehow wiggle out of it.

"Actually, it is. I'm going to talk to your boss…" I responded absently as I passed him by, heading for the refrigerator humming softly in the corner. I took out a juice box, which was the only type of drink they sold in bulk for hospital food, an apple and a cold Danish from the different stacks of food shoved mercilessly into the nearly nonexistent space. I looked up at him with somber eyes. "This is not going to work out."

He sighed with apparent relief, but as soon as the breathy sound left his lips, he was struck hard in the head by a flying apple. He grabbed the inflicted spot, and the Joker cackled ferociously again, kicking his feet like a child tickled by a hearty joke.

"Do you think you can keep an eye on him while I'm gone?" I asked, pulling the strap of my purse back over my shoulder, where it settled limply at my side. He looked pained and slightly petrified, but nodded his head, knowing there was a chance he'd be free if he'd willingly comply.

The Joker sucked on his juice box, slurping noisily as he drained its contents and reached the empty bottom, being completely grating on the cop's sensitive nerves. He was doing it to be cruel, acclimating already the guy's reaction to him and turning it against him, toying with his trepidation so that it was like a little game to keep him entertained while I was gone. As long as he didn't hurl anymore knives at him, I was able to disregard the fact that he was tormenting the cop. I just didn't want to come back and find him dead and bleeding on the floor, a motley collection of knives sticking out of his chest.

"Please hurry," pleaded the cop as I started toward the door, and I only nodded in reply, but it was enough to stifle his worries that I'd make sure not to take my sweet time while I was gone.

I didn't want him there either, to be honest…it felt like an invasion of both my own privacy and the Joker's, though I hardly thought that the latter would have been a reasonable argument, considering no one really cared if the Joker's rights were violated or not. Even with Gordon being the kind and thoughtful person that he was, he hardly had tolerance for criminals. The Joker was no exception.

I asked one of the interns to cover for me while I made a quick trip to the precinct, knowing I wouldn't to explain to an intern, who were always eager and ready to please, no matter what the reason was. As I'd predicted, the young, bright-eyed kid with a pair of thin-rimmed glass perched on his nose and a pocket protector in his pressed, white overcoat didn't even seem like he wanted to question my motives…he jumped at the idea of having an actual job to do, and I gave him a list of a few of my patients that needed tending to while I was gone so that he could ask for their files at the front desk.

Then, I was off to the police department.

It wasn't exactly crowded in there when I walked in, just bustling, always busy like the hospital. There were phones ringing and handcuffs jingling on belts, with heightened voices arguing in different rooms and receptionists with their fingers pressed to their ears as they sifted through files and wrote down addresses for emergency calls. I felt extremely out of place, my favorite baby blue scrubs suddenly feeling comical amongst the big time, navy blue uniforms that surrounded me…like the feelings of a circus clown standing next to a high profile illusionist.

"Can I help you, miss?" One of the receptionists caught me wandering around the lobby, looking conspicuous in my hospital garb. Relieved that someone had noticed me even in all of the frenzy happening around us, I moved toward the front desk, an older woman with short, cherry red hair sitting behind the counter with matching scarlet lipstick and gaudy blue eyeshadow lining her tired, wrinkled eyelids.

"Yes, I'm here to see Lieutenant Gordon," I replied, folding my arms over the countertop as she finished writing down an important phone number.

"Lieutenant Gordon is busy, girly. Sorry..." She looked up from her pen. "You'll just have to come by another time."

"Look, you don't understand…it's important," I retorted, slightly perturbed by her calmness.

"That's what they all say, darlin'," she droned absently, reserving her attention for the notepad she was making a note on. "I'll tell Gordon you came by, but there's really nothing more I can-"

"Miss Grant?"

Another voice intervened on the pointless conversation between the receptionist and me, saving me from having to try and convince the woman to let me see the Lieutenant before I would be missed by Dr. Smithland, who seemed like he was just itching for the chance to bust me and get me fired. My line of vision met with a familiar pair of weary brown eyes which blinked behind his black-rimmed glasses, his charcoal hair just as tousled as ever, but he still somehow looked uniform with a police badge pinned to his jacket.

"Lieutenant!" I exclaimed, turning away from the monotonous clerk, who'd obviously forgotten me quickly and answered another phone call. "I was hoping I'd catch you here. We need to talk."

He looked around hesitantly, his hands on his hips as he mulled the idea over for a second. Finally, he smiled at me and took me by the shoulder in a friendly gesture, directing me toward his office, where he shut the door behind him and offered me a seat in front of his desk. He sat down, rearranging some classified files so that they were out of my view, and then averted his eyes back to me.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about, Miss Grant?" He asked, scooting his chair forward a bit and positioning himself comfortably, anticipating my answer.

"Chelsea, actually." I corrected him, trying not to sound too rough seeing as I meant no harm.

"My apologies, Chelsea," he continued, folding his hands and setting them on the surface of his desk. "What are you here for?"

"Well, look, Lieutenant, I don't mean to be pushy here, but I really don't think it's necessary that you have some poor guy in there guarding the Joker while I'm not around. It's really not needed…he can't go anywhere, and I sure as hell don't think that the cop wants to be there at all. I came in this morning and found him drowning in his own sweat, with knives stabbed into the wall behind him. The Joker would sooner kill him than allow himself to be watched all day like a hawk."

Gordon nodded his head absently as he contemplated a practical answer. He plucked the glasses from his face and set them on the pile of paperwork in front of him, massaging the bridge of his nose as if in some secret distress. I waited patiently, noticing how much younger he looked without the glasses.

"Look, Chelsea," he began, twiddling his thumbs as he spoke. "We, as in Batman and I, just don't feel comfortable leaving you alone in dealing with the Joker. He's a dangerous man…he could turn on you whenever he feels he needs to, and your security is important to us. We don't want you to get hurt, and it is a safety precaution we have to take to keep you from harm."

"With all due respect, sir, I've already spent six days with him, and I've learned how to deal with him in a civilized manner. I know there's always that chance that I could get hurt, but you could also say that it would be more likely that I get mugged walking on my way to work or get caught up in a robbery just cashing a check at the bank. It's a dangerous city, and I've learned to live in such a high crime rate just as you have, Lieutenant. I can handle this, I know I can…I just need you to trust me."

Gordon sighed and placed the glasses back on his nose. He studied me carefully, as if sizing up my ability to protect myself correctly, and then seemed to slump a little in his posture, like a sign of acquiescence to my wishes.

"Alright, you can send him back when you get there," he spoke groggily, and I could now just discern the shadows underneath his eyes. It seemed I wasn't the only one having trouble with sleeping. I was about to rise from my chair when he spoke again, pointing his finger at me in a fatherly sort of way. "But if I hear about any funny business whatsoever, I'm sending in two next time. Alright?"

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate it, really I do." I smiled softly at him, and he returned the favor before I walked out of his office, feeling exceedingly contented now that I'd settled the matter at hand. I took a cab back to the hospital and walked through the doors just as the clock hands noiselessly struck seven, which I could see from the wall behind the front desk. I found the intern that had handled my patients while I had been gone and thanked him for the help. He was happy to oblige…he didn't even have to say a word for me to realize that.

I was only given a moment to spare in which I retraced my steps toward the lonely wing of the hospital and dismissed the anxious cop, who was now surrounded by a clutter of objects at his feet. There was the apple that I'd seen him lob at the poor guy, then a large portion of the hoard of pens I'd given him. I figured he'd do something like throw them or flick them through the air sometime; I'd only been waiting for it to happen. The cop didn't fail to display his outright cheer of escaping the Joker, who'd apparently tried to use him as a dart bored with his entire collection of knives, which I counted was at least fourteen of the specimens, lodged into the wall where the cop had been standing, undoubtedly about ready to melt into a puddle of fearful goo and never be heard from again.

I picked up the items and dismounted the knife soiree from its coagulation on the wall. He didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that I didn't give them back t him, and merely stuck them in my pocket. I guessed this was because he had his favorite knife underneath the sheets, and didn't care anymore about the ones I'd confiscated than the lint that danced idly across the floor beneath his bed. I did, however, placed the handful of pens on his food tray along with the rejected apple. The entire Danish was gone, and only a few crumbs had been left behind. I replaced it with a cold turkey sandwich swathed in plastic wrap, setting it quietly on the food tray as he watched me with a furrowed brow.

"Aw, doc…why'd ya have to take my toy away? Perhaps he wasn't as _ah-musing_ as you are, I'll admit to that at least…" He leered, his scars fidgeting with unspoken delight. "But he was at least somethin' I could, hummm…_play_ with while I waited for you to come back and torment me."

"I did that so you can have some privacy, or else he'd be watching you until they arrested you when you get better." I threw the plastic wrapper that had held the Danish into a nearby trashcan, along with the empty juice box he'd thrown at the cop after I'd left.

I'd already come to know that the Joker was not a grateful creature. He didn't think that anything, even the nicest gestures that benefited him, were worth his time at all. In fact, he only saw them as weaknesses, and he hated all forms of human weakness.

He grunted disapprovingly at my remark and turned his attention toward the window, unabashed about the critical sneer that lashed out from his abrasive mouth. His tattered scars began to twitch again, this time not in obvious glee, and his serpent's tongue scurried from between the exposed, naked flesh of his naturally olive-based lips. Sometimes I couldn't help but imagine that it was forked, his tongue, and that I could hear a little satanic hiss emit from his lips whenever he'd repeat that habitual motion.

I recognized this as a moment of another one of his silent tantrum fits, this time for taking his new toy and again naively showing human weakness for his lost cause. I didn't have to tell him that I'd be back later…he already knew well enough. I was continued to work until lunch in peace, and even at my second to last break of for a long and tedious day, I influenced myself not to be lured back into the depths of the Joker's netherworld and ate in the staffroom. By six, I was ready to go back, this time equipped with sedatives and that purse that carried my sponge and men's razor in its messy contents.

He was asleep when I walked in, a crossword puzzle tablet snapped shut on his chest and a pen in his motionless hand. I gently pried the pen from his fingers and set the crossword puzzle aside, returning to his edge of his bed to inject just a little of sedatives into the I.V., just to keep him asleep while I took care of some necessities for him.

I couldn't deny that little thrill I experienced when I removed his vest and shirt and let them plop on the cushion of the chair behind me. It was unwanted and not understood, and I recoiled at the disconcerting little pulse of animation that throbbed in my veins as I wet the sponge in a basin filled with warm water and soap and began massaging his dirty skin until it glistened with sudsy water and appeared clean.

He was wonderfully sculptured, conformed of sinewy grace and wiry with subtle muscle, especially the graceful curvature of his masculine neck. He might have been loony and I could admit that I was unsettled by his presence and terrified of him as a whole, but the womanly side of me couldn't deny that he was finely built, for a man who was completely off his last nut.

I only washed the parts of him that wouldn't pertain to me violating his privacy, which was from his thighs to his feet when it came to his lower half. After I patted him dry, I redressed him in some similar clothes I'd bought for him the night before while I was sifting through a special order of scrubs at the department store. I already knew his clothes were custom made, but I unearthed a pair of pinstriped slacks and a shirt that had been left on the racks for a long while, with the color purple being vastly despised now, and it looked alike to the one he wore. I couldn't find the shirt, but I hoped he wouldn't notice if I put the green vest and blazer back on. It would have to suffice until I took home his garments and washed them.

After I was through with redressing him, I reached for the razor and shaving cream that I'd stashed in my purse. I set it aside as I erased only the part of his mask that would have to be out of the way for me to shave him, and noticed just how normal he looked with long stubble gracing the olive complexion of his skin. But I didn't want to break down his lack of trust even further, and even in sleep I decided to bury my curiosity and respect his wishes, no matter how silly they seemed or how much I wanted to see what lay beneath the ploy.

I was careful not to cut him in any way, dragging the razor gently over his skin, especially over his angular jaw line. I held his sodden head of hair, which I'd thoroughly rinsed but did not wash in fear of raising suspicion on his part, in the palm of my hand and tilted it back so that I could reach the growing beard on his throat. After I thoroughly erased all traces of hair from his face and patted the skin dry, I reached into my purse and pulled three small tubs of greasepaint from its contents…a red, a black and a white.

I knew he would have wanted to repaint his mask anyway, and so I'd picked it up while I couldn't sleep the night before, figuring I could do something productive other than lay there and watch the light outside my window flicker on and off during the night. He wanted to keep his face hidden, for whatever reason he may have had, and I understood that I had to respect this adamant whim of his, so that I wouldn't end up scathed by that knife of his. I knew he felt comfortable with it on and I didn't want to breach any borders of his discomfort, knowing it was a dangerous place to venture into when dealing with such an unbridled creature as the Joker.

So, I reapplied the mask, spreading it thickly over his skin until there was not a glimmer of olive skin left in sight.

As I finished the disguise and swiped my fingers slowly across the last portion of bare skin that I could see, I let my touch linger on his cleanly shaven, freshly painted cheek. It was only a moment that I let it stay there, soaking in the warmth of his mortal flesh, but I wrenched it away quickly after a moment of carelessness, like I'd been suddenly shocked.

Instead, I distracted myself by wiping the different shades of greasepaint from the three different fingers that I'd used, pushing the thoughts that had invaded my head from my mind. I attended to my normal ritual, leaving food for when he awoke and another juice box if he got thirsty. I left him another book I'd brought with me as well, in case he felt like reading at all…_Naked Lunch_ by William Burroughs. I then bundled up his dirty clothes under my arm, so that I could wash them when I was given the chance.

And I left him there without another glance his way, impatient to go home and leave my tumultuous thoughts behind me, in the gloom where they rightfully belonged.


	8. Animal Instincts

**Author's Note:**

**As usual, I'd like to take the time to thank all of my readers and reviewers.  
You guys are seriously the best, and the reason that this story is so frequently updated.**

**Anyhow, just like I promised, here's Chapter 8!**

**The Joker belongs to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**This is an awfully short author's note. :o  
I'm so used to writing epics that this one looks positively feeble next to my other ones. xD  
Anyhow, just typing out my musings here.**

**Enjoy!:D**

**Also! I made up a miniscule playlist. There aren't very many songs that remind me of the situation between the Joker and Chelsea. xD  
Anyhow, if you'd like to add to the playlist, send me a PM !**

**It's on my profile, by the way, if you wanted to see it. :D**

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I could hardly believe he'd been here a solid week already.

And in the span of one week, he's been stitched up, twice, left for dead, overdosed, discovered by cops and given a much needed bath and shave. I was a little nervous about how he'd react to the latest endeavors to keep him pleased, and _clean _for that matter.

But I wasn't so sure it had been the best idea, given that he had fits about the littlest things, like suggesting we take off that face paint and doing little selfless acts for his benefit. I think he condemned most of my deeds as pity, and he didn't want pity, he wanted fear. Part of me wanted to assure him that he evoked a lot of fear in me, but he could take that as defiance, and I didn't know where disobeying him would lead me.

The hospital was a little slower now. A lot of the sick patients here had gone home after spending at least a week and a half in this awful place, and were keen on getting back to the place they belonged. I couldn't blame them, especially if I were stuck in a place like this for so long. I'd want to get back to a warm bed with good food and a family that loves and adores me beyond all else as well…it was just too bad that I didn't really have some of those things, thanks to my cracked window and a rent that is slightly higher than my income.

But I had a lot more than some people had, and I inwardly scolded myself for being so ungrateful.

With the rush died down and the ratio of nurses to patients more evenly spaced, I was able to take little breaks in between with so much time on my hands. They were more of just simple stops in the staffroom to fetch a bottle of water to take with me on my runs, but even so, I was actually given a second to breathe amongst the slowly calming state beginning to spread throughout the hospital.

By the time my lunch break rolled around, I was a little too eager to leave the natural human world and venture back into the Joker's safe haven, where he dwelled in his own suffocating boredom. I had his newly washed clothes in my bag and a small dosage of sedatives in the other, and I hoped I might be able to find him asleep so I could redress him before he woke up, before he noticed the difference.

The mood of the room, when I happened to walk in and find him very much awake and looking excessively perturbed behind the pretense of his newly painted mask, was very tense in an eerily ghost-like fashion.

There was a bloodlust in the air that I could hardly fathom, and it suddenly dawned on me why when I chanced a glimpse of those darkly churning eyes, their color nonexistent beneath such hollow shadows which surrounded them and submerged them into a hellish darkness. He looked like a fiend, a monster bent on nothing but destruction and murderous intentions. I squirmed feebly inside, wanting to run away and never come back when I caught the gist of what was going on.

He'd noticed….of course he had. The fact that he was clean and didn't smell like a rotting garbage can anymore was probably noted the first moment he woke from his slumber. A man with his sort of observant intellect and tendency to be adamant about his territory and comfort borders would not so easily let something like this slip his perception. I was going to get it, I knew, and I was going to get it good.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he lifted his hand slowly from the sheets and beckoned me over with a gesture of his index finger. I felt like I was in some sort of trance as I got lost in those dark eyes of his, trying to find the color amongst the blackness, but finding nothing in return for my endeavors. By the time I'd reached him and was snatched cruelly by the neck, a rather unpleasant way of being broken by a sort of hypnotic stupor, it was already too late for escape on my part.

I realized he was wearing his gloves again; he'd probably put them back on knowing I was going to get some sort of punishment for my imprudent encroachment on his security boundaries. He was like a dog proclaiming his territory, and I could see the markings of a primordial snarl beginning to emit from the deep chasms of his throat.

"Tell me, bucko. Do I look, humm – _stupid_ to you?" His voice was immensely tranquil, but not altogether placid, the same dead calm before the unleashing of a feral tempest. I found myself staring wide-eyed into his face, the hints of his insatiable thirst for blood now extremely apparent in the way his scarlet lips pulled back over stained, yellow teeth.

"_Answer me_!" He roared, shaking me by the neck until his fingers, through the gloves, dug into the sides of my throat. I shook my head in reply, knowing I couldn't speak with his grip so tightly wound around me.

He continued on without even putting forth the notion that he'd taken my gesture as a good enough answer for him.

"Are ya sure, doll face? I mean, are you sure that I don't look mentally incapable in any way? 'Cause if I am, doc, I won't be hurt, I promise ya, ya don't have to lie just to _pah-lease_ me.…I just wanna know if you think that I wouldn't notice a little itsy bitsy change in the air this morning that you thought I would be ah – too _stupid_…"He paused to flick out that switchblade out, then pressed it abrasively to my collar, the jagged teeth digging into vulnerable skin. "To uh, to _detect_."

I whimpered, trying to breathe when my air passage was being crushed to oblivion, and grasped onto his hand, failing in my attempt to pry it off.

"Shh, shh," he slapped my cheeks mockingly with his free hand, a leer beginning to jolt across his defensive snarl. "Stop it, you're fussing all over the nice new _drab_ ya bought for me…. And _ob_-viously, it's not appealing in any sense, on anyone really, but especially on you, sweets. Leave the _bleating_ to the sheep, doll, and show me some _fear_ on that pretty face of yours like a good girl."

I kept my eyes squeezed shut for a moment before reopening them to find my countenance being scoured by his malicious stare. I recall thinking of how he looked like the Devil, even when he wasn't assaulting me, but it was always in these feral fits of bad humor that I found him to be positively satanic, in a way that made my spine go absolutely numb with terror.

"So, ah – humm how should I put this without sounding too rude…" His eyes rolled upwards as he tapped his chin with the tip of his knife in deep thought, and after a split second of silence, dug the knife back into the crook of my jaw. "Ah yes…where the _fuck_ are my _fucking_ clothes?"

His eyes flashed and being even slightly religious as I was, I winced visibly at the potent curses and tried to ignore them as they stabbed into my ears. By now, I could tell that my face was beginning to turn some unnatural shade with my air supply so low and his fingers weaved around my neck so that I only got a fraction of the oxygen I was used to getting. I was weak, but I managed to lift my heavy arm toward my purse.

"Ah! You really are an angel, gal. You cleaned 'em up nice for me and everythin'! A genuine charity bum, like I said before." He crooned satirically, dropping me to the floor, where I landed with a hard thunk.

He stepped on my hand as he crawled carefully out of the bed, as to not rip his stitches, and though it hurt like hell, I only thanked God that he hadn't stepped on something vital like my skull or my chest. Like a wounded animal on its last line of defense, I just stayed there, trying to breathe, staring at his feet with exaggerated eyes.

I listened halfheartedly as he rifled through my purse, dumping everything out onto the floor where some of the more breakable things I kept in there shattered on the hard, glossy tile. A stupid move on my part…I should've known he was going to destroy something of mine sometime, and if I'd had half a brain, I would've taken those things out long ago just in case.

I was beginning to feel dizzy, lightheaded as if a great weight had been taken off my skull and was starting to lull me into a hazardous spell. My throat felt swollen and dry, the memory of his fingertips still imprinted into my skin. Already, the sensitive feeling of an impending bruise was pushing into my inflicted flesh. I hardly noticed as the world began to blur before my eyes.

For a moment, I wavered dangerously between consciousnesses and comatose, my eyes growing heavy, and just as he disappeared into the bathroom to change back into his real clothes, I slipped beneath the surface and felt myself fall deep into a state of oblivion.

I didn't know how long I was out, I only knew that I was being coaxed awake by some sort of strong smell that pulled me back up to the waking world. When I came to, I was looking up into the face of two interns, who'd likely been sent by the clerk when I didn't show up after my break was over.

They looked over me cautiously at first, but then their faces lighted up with glee as my eyes opened and I saw them through my blurred vision. My throat was undeniably sore, and I felt a little burning sensation near my jaw line. Everything came rushing back to me in a flurry of mental images and perceptive fear.

Perhaps he'd actually cut me this time…

"What are you doing back here?" I gasped, my voice hoarse. "You're not supposed to be down here."

The female intern spoke up. "The front desk clerk sent us; she said she was a little uneasy about you being gone so long. What's her name again? I can't remember…for the life of me…"

"It's Agnes," the male intervened. "She sent us about half an hour ago. We've been trying to wake you up since then."

I sat up slowly, holding onto my aching head and grimacing as a gruesome pain shot through my head.

"How long have I been out for?"

"About…" The girl glanced at her watch. "Three hours."

I glanced at her dubiously, but then caught sight of the clock above the doorway and saw that it was four in the afternoon. I'd slept almost the last of my shift away…I only had two hours left.

The young man backed off as I tried to get up, but the girl listened to her woman's intuition and sensed I needed help, so she grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. I exhaled sharply at the headrush I experienced as had risen too quickly, but turned my attention to the sleeping figure in the bed, who was now in his beloved clothes and again, wasn't in his natural sleeping position.

"Oh, and we had to give him sedatives. He was getting a little scary, talking about his knives like they were real people." The boy fixed his glasses, and I realized it was the very same who had covered for me while I'd gone to see Gordon.

"How much did you give him?" I asked, hesitantly checking his pulse, just in case this whole thing was another attempt to kill him off before he had the chance to heal all the way. But as soon as I was satisfied that he was alright, I ripped my hand away…after our little episode earlier, I didn't think I'd ever dare to even check his stitches without permission ever again.

"We only gave him half a dosage. He should be waking up soon, actually."

This time the girl had spoken, and even as she began talking, I began to see little signs of stirring in him that made certain he would wake up any minute. A twitch of those ragged scars, a disapproving frown at the dream he was having.

He would be waking up at any moment.

I didn't want them in here when he woke up from his sedative induced sleep, and I certainly didn't want to be in here…I needed at least another day or so to muster up the courage to show my face in here again.

He'd frightened me out of my wits, and in a way that would take me a while to come down here in even the most fragile state of ease.

"Why don't you guys just run along. Thank you for reviving me, but he's going to be awake in a few minutes and I don't want you to be in here when he does."

I ushered them out of the door, made sure they were really leaving, and watched them walk down the hall a little ways before hurrying through my daily routine that I usually performed around six. I couldn't come back before I left this time.

After I'd taken care of my daily routine, I slowly, as to not wake him when he was so close to emerging from his somnolence, and picked up the contents of my purse, placing them back in my bag quietly. I couldn't do much about the broken trinkets I'd had stuffed in my bag, which I now knew was a huge mistake on my part, knowing how unpredictable his temper was and how inclined he was to those outrageous temper tantrums he threw.

Some times, it felt like I was watching over a wily, yet imaginative child.

Others, I was nurturing Satan himself back to health.

There was just no way to determine who he was going to be on one day or the next. I'd seen him only he day before, lobbing things at the nervous cop like a playful, devious kid. But today, he'd been sadistic and pitiless and murderous, as I could see it reflected in those dark, profound eyes of his.

He was like a time bomb, a ticking explosive that devastated anything and everything in its path. At any time, he could explode into any kind of temper, and I had to always be vigilant, aware of my surroundings, so that he wouldn't use my lack of attentiveness against me and take advantage of a tenuous situation.

I had to remind myself that he was no ordinary man, even in those moments I could catch a glimpse of when he lapsed into the mere mortal I wished I could see when he was waking. It was in those moments that I dwelled in for too long to the point that I put myself in danger, the moments that I had been hoping and praying to God for so that I could see him like a normal human being more often. I spent some of my restless nights trying to assure myself there was a heart in there somewhere, if only he'd put it to good use.

But it was futile, asking for things that would never be. He was a monster, that was just who he was…and he couldn't be anything else than what he really was, deep inside of him. I couldn't change him; I couldn't sway his illogical reason to mass murder and create havoc in Gotham's slowly dying society.

It was hopeless.

I tried to get my mind off him as I finished off my day. Some of the patients asked about the bruises on my neck, noticing that they were in the shape of fingerprints. I told them not to worry about me, giving them a meager smile. They didn't seem to notice the feigned beam, and one older woman patted my hand, telling me it was going to be alright…everything always worked out in the end, even if it wasn't the way we'd planned or really wanted things to go.

"God always has a purpose, dear. You just have to trust him enough to lead you down the right path."

Her kind, thoughtful phrase had helped a little, but the magic of her wise words seemed to wear off after a while as I continued to mull over my situation in my head. Nothing seemed to really make sense in my life anymore and all of the sudden it'd turned into some overly dramatic soap opera or something. Perhaps Gordon had been right…perhaps I needed protection from _Him_.

By the time I had gotten off work, I had reverted back into my despair.

Bill noticed…but really, I'd expected him to. He was married and knew the inconstant emotions of women, so he was well practiced in cheering up a disenchanted soul.

"Why the long face, Chelsea?" He punched in my indicator, keeping his eyes on me warily as he did so. I sighed heavily, putting my chin in my hands as I shrugged.

Luckily I had my coat on, and it covered up the bruises that had formed on my neck. I hadn't realized how bad they were until I'd gone to the bathroom and found little scattered prints of purple and black stains decorating my accosted skin. He'd really done a number on me…but he was like an animal, and they weren't gentle when they were declaring the boundaries of their territory.

"I just had a bad day at work, Bill. Nothing out of the ordinary."

I hoped he couldn't' see through my lie and felt guilty for not telling him the truth. But I couldn't just go right out and tell him that I was the Joker's foolish nurse and he'd attacked me today like some defensive animal. He'd probably try to interfere, and I didn't want anymore interventions…I already had Gordon and Batman on my back, and I didn't need the load to get any heavier, or else I would crumble beneath the pressure.

"Well, just remember that tomorrow is another day, and there's always promise in new beginnings."

I flashed him a smile. This time, it was fleeting, but actually genuine.

He tipped his hat at me playfully, and gave me a gawky grin. "You have a nice night, Miss Grant."

"Thanks, Bill. You too." I waved goodbye to him and continued on my way.

As I walked out into the darkness, a part of me hoped to see Batman again, waiting in the shadows like he sometimes did, ready to pounce on me and scare the living daylights out of me. Sometimes I couldn't help but think he got a kick out of watching me squirm, but I could never really tell…his face was so stiff and unresponsive it was like trying to determine the feelings of a stone gargoyle.

But he only seemed to be there when I wasn't expecting him, and when I walked outside, stopping underneath the light that he always seemed to reveal himself underneath.

I waited around for ten minutes, feeling the pressure behind my eyes burn and swell, clouding my vision until I felt the tears begin to trickle down my face, and I slumped to the ground, burying my face in my hands and weeping foolishly into my palms.

I sat there like an idiot against the wall, weeping my eyes out for no apparent reason, just that I needed to weep…cry for my future and my stupidity, cry for the Joker's lost soul and cry over the fact that Batman wasn't there to help me when I truly needed him.

I was in too deep now, and there was no option of turning back.


	9. A Spit in the Face, A Knife in the Back

**Author's Note:**

**I don't think I've ever really thanked my anonymous reviewers! So, this is a shout out to the anonymous reviews I've recieved, and I just wanted to thank you for all the encouragement I've recieved from all fo you! Thanks so much! **

**This is exceedinly longer...I think it's the longest so far. :O**

**There's a surprise for you guys near the end. Enjoy it. ;)**

**Kat, you're the bomb. Thanks for all the inspiration you've given me for this story!**

**Anyway, here comes the copyright laa-dee-dahh.**

**The Joker and Lieutenant James Gordon belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**Enjoy! :D**

* * *

It's Thursday, and though any other Thursday would seem just as regular as the next or the one before, this one is dismal and obnoxiously unwanted.

Any other Thursday, I wouldn't be walking down the streets wondering what in the world happened to my boring life, the one I was used to…the one I could handle. Any other Thursday, I didn't have a psychotic patient to deal with and my own mixed up attitude toward the man that had dug nasty bruises into my skin. Gordon wouldn't have been secretly watching me like a doting, overprotective mother, I wouldn't have half the hospital, the half that was aware of the Joker's presence, against me and I sure as hell wouldn't have Smithland harassing me all the time about my experiment. Just yesterday he'd begun that thing again…that thing where he berates me until I feel like melting into a puddle of permeable mush on the floor. If I was already a doormat, why not be walked all over like one? If I was reduced to a pile of goo, then it would be much easier for people to stomp all over me as much as they wished.

It was the Joker I was most worried about. I still hadn't gotten over the terrible fear that gripped my cold, frantic heart as I walked to work on foot through the frosty, biting air. What could I do? I couldn't just leave him in there to die of gangrene when his wounds weren't regularly checked, and they most certainly would with the way he takes care of himself, perhaps faster if he didn't begin working around a standard bathing schedule. I just couldn't leave him…and half of me didn't want to. The sick, twisted, morbid half of me that was convinced there was more to him that meets the eye…I'd already been given the chance to see it, when no one else had. The part of him that was vulnerable, as human as his warm, callused hands and the stubble on his cheeks.

And even though he was still a creature of my darkest, most tumultuous nightmares, I still couldn't push away the fact that it was those hands that my mind was set on, the way he curled into himself when he slept like a peaceful child.

There was no hope for him…but there was at least a part of him that I could see that pushed me to the brink of delusion.

He was still human.

It was unusually cold for early autumn in Gotham, the warmth of pedestrians' constant breath looking like an icy silhouette as it battled against the freezing chill in the atmosphere. Some of my more superstitious intuition told me it was a sign, that the ominous cold meant there was trouble hanging on every last bated breath in the frigid breeze. But even as I pushed the thought from my head, my muscles innately tensed; I'd have to face the Joker in a matter of minutes, and I didn't know how to act around him anymore. Submissive or neutral? My brain began to swell with panic…I didn't know what to do.

I walked through the sliding doors to find myself suddenly submerged in a reign of complete chaos.

All around me, nurses screamed at the top of their lungs and ran aimlessly around the vicinity, like they were looking for a safe place to hide. Even the clerk, who never abandoned her post, was missing from her seat. Flashes of white burned into my mind and a mess of clipboards and papers litter the walkway.

"What's going on?" I shout to a passing nurse, watching her eyes pulsate with fear.

"It's the Joker! He's in the hospital, right now!"

"Where is he? Where did he go!" I shook her, trying to knock a bit of sense back into her befuddled head.

She pointed toward the cafeteria frantically. "Over there, near the cafeteria! Smithland's going after him with a gun, but I don't think-"

"Smithland _what_?!" I dropped her from my grip and she dashed for the staffroom without another thought as I dodged the frenetic crowd hurriedly and kept my vision peeled for a tacky purple suit.

There it was, I spotted it amongst the doctors and nurses curled into the fetal position on the floor, their hands over their heads as the Joker flounced about them, talking animatedly. I couldn't hear what he was saying until I grew nearer to the scene.

"-Yes, yes. That's right…bow to your master, like good little shitheads. Ah ah, don't uh, don't raise your head there, or else you'll get a good _wall-uh-ping_ right on the spot! It's best you don't cross me…I'm a little cranky cause I haven't ah- haven't had my _breakfast-uh_. It's the most important meal of the day! It's not wise to skip it, especially a _fella_ like me who's got a stomach the size of Texas and a wily temper to hmm_ - match_."

Something caught my peripheral vision, something moving fast and confidently toward the Joker while everyone else had ducked for cover in a safer place. I whirled my head toward the moving object and found Smithland walking toward the cafeteria, a glower on his face and a pistol in his hand. He cocked it, and I could hear the clicking noise even from here. But I recovered from my momentary lapse of thought and raced into the lunchroom, bounding in front of the immensely tall, inhuman looking figure who resembled more of a god of war than an actual human being. He rose at least nine inches over my average height, but even my lack of total coverage stopped Smithland in his tracks. The man bore into me with burning eyes.

"Now, now precious. Don't ruin the man's fun…if he wants to play, let him play!" The Joker shoved me violently out of the way, and I had to skid a few steps across the burnished floors before I regained my balance. "You wanna shoot me, old fart? Shoot me…go on, do it-" The Joker, in his darkly childish swagger, advanced on the man, and though he backed up two steps, the soaring figure had already reached for the gun in his hands before he could get away completely, shoving the barrel end of the gun to his forehead. I couldn't see the look in his eyes as he stared Smithland straight in the eye, but Smithland's face had drained of all color, his confidence absorbed by the abrasive man standing before him.

He was showing weakness…the Joker despised weakness.

"Have ya ever-say have ya ever used a gun bah-fore, squirt? I'll take a wild guess here and say you haven't seeing as you can't even grip the damn thing properly." He ripped the gun from the man's trembling hands and tossed it angrily across the floor behind him, where it landed in front of me. I dared not touch it, and turned my eyes away from the blatant object…he was tormenting me with that silent gesture, even while he was already scolding another.

"Anyway, as I was ah, _saying_…guns are so humm – _unprofessional_, I should say. Now if ya wanna kill a man correct-uh-ly, ya gotta use a blade. It's where all the skill lies, in that one little swipe of a cutting edge. A gun? DIpshit, even a blind man could use a gun…a gun is a _coward's_ weapon. It's a cheap, quick technique that puts the art of murder to shame, it makes Jack the Ripper writhe in his _grave-uh_. Sure, they get the job done quick, but you don't get to _say-vorrr_ the power that comes with directly carving…" At this he pulled the knife out of his breast pocket and flicked it open, lunging at Smithland and grabbing him by the collar of his pressed dress shirt, digging the jagged blade into his cheek. "The life outta someone. It's the best feelin' in the world, I gotta tell ya…makes a man feel like what he was always destined to become. A _hunter_…a _predator_."

Silently, slowly, while the Joker was in the middle of his monologue and his attention was focused on Smithland's infuriatingly alarmed expression, I crept up on him, careful not to make a sound. Smithland kept the fearful mask plastered on his face while he dug for something in his pocket...one of my feet skidded across the shiny floor as I tripped over the front of my shoe in my anxious strain. The Joker wheeled on me and simpered at me derisively, rubbing it in my face as I got caught in the act of the mouse trying to catch the cat.

But we were both surprised when the spin and fastened click of handcuffs locked over one of the Joker's wrist, and while he was still startled by being caught, Smithland whirled him around and captured his other hand, securing the other dastardly wrist into the cuffs and ripping the knife from his grip.

"Why, doc. You sneaky little shit…you caught me off guard! Ya see, that's why you're so _ah-musing_…I never can humm –" His tongue danced wildly behind his teeth and suddenly flickered outwards, grazing the length of his scarlet-painted lips. There was a serpent's grin there on his face, spreading the mangled scars that tainted his once handsome countenance." I can uh, never really _know-uh_ who's side you're really on. Does that worry ya, doc? That not even _you_ , you who should know yourself better than anyone - even a psycho like me is aware of that - know who's side you're really on…hmmm?"

His allegation struck a nerve somewhere deep within my chest, but I tried to push it from my mind, and distracted myself by looking down at my shoes as Smithland shoved the Joker back into the cafeteria and told the cowering doctors and nurses to get out. The Joker merely cackled as he was prodded forcefully into the dining area, ripping into peals of maniacal laughter as he was thrust into a chair and almost fell off the provided cushion. His face wrinkled with the hilarity, and Smithland merely grimaced as he scrutinized the chortling man.

"Sir! The police are on their way!"

"Aw shit..the police!? Those pathetic ploys dressed up in navy blue suits? No, no, no! Ya got it all wrong, toots! If ya wanna really get me goin', send in the _Batman_. Now there's law _enforcement-uh_ if I ever saw one! The guy makes even spandex look good…that's hard to do, I'll tell ya that!"

He collapsed in another fit of giggles, tickled pink by the whole situation. It was just another game to him…for me, it was pure anguish. I sat there with my hands between my knees, trying to hide the shame on my face as I realized the Joker was right. Whose side was I really on? I knew I wasn't on the Joker's side, that was for sure, and yet I tried to save him, I still wanted to help him. I didn't want Gordon to take him away…I didn't want Batman to kill him on the streets.

I began to think something was broken somewhere in my head…a lose screw, or something much worse.

Everyone else simply ignored him for a while. They were shaken up pretty badly by the scare, and the Joker was positively glowing as a result of the apparent depiction of fear in their careful, wary actions. He hated weakness, he hated it with a passion…but he simply lived for the taste of tangible fear.

"Why so glum, doc? Did ya maybe realize the world ain't so ah - _peachy_ keen as ya thought it was? That sometimes, things don't go the way you planned? That's why I don't have plans, ya see…that way I'm not disappointed when they fall apart at the _seaaams_. See, if I don't have plans, there's nothin' to be ashamed of when they don't go the way I wanted them too. That's the fun in bein' spontaneous…that's the fun in bein' bad. There's no reason to feel remorse about anything because you don't have _plans_ anymore… you just _do_."

Smithland was too involved in a discussion with Agnes to overhear the Joker's commentary. I tried to ignore it as well, feeling utterly ashamed of myself already without his provoking the obliterating sentiment to swell even more than it needed. Besides, if I felt even more guilty than I was already experiencing, I'd explode into little shards of remorse, and then they'd have a huge mess to clean up. The Joker would enjoy it, surely…but I'd learned to feign neutrality around him. That way, he'd leave me alone.

"That's not the way society works," I mumbled, fumbling with my fingers shamefacedly. "The world has a plan, Joker. And it'll move on with you or without you…either way, you just end up feeling as empty as you did before you killed all those people, before you blew up those buildings. Being powerful doesn't make you feel any more significant…it's what you do with that power that counts."

"Ho ho! Oh, you…" He swatted his handcuffed palms at me like I was a silly little child prattling about her musings out loud, dismissing me into his spent bank. "You really are a _fassss-inating_ creature, aren't ya? You're just like the _Bat_! Always tryin' to save the world when all it will ever give you in return is a spit in the face and a knife in the back. Tsk tsk…won't you ever learn?" He wagged his finger at me, a master scolding his naughty dog.

I didn't reply to this when I realized who I was talking to…he wasn't someone to be reasoned with, a man unleashed on the world for one purpose. To set it on fire and watch it fall to nothing more but a thick blanket of ashes…

Just then, Smithland broke from his conversation. He motioned for us to follow, noiselessly ordering me to lead the Joker behind him. I was gentle as I helped him from his seat, and noticed he was bleeding again…the dark stain on his green vest was enough to prove that.

I kept a firm grip on his bare forearm, the shirtsleeves rolled back into wrangled, purple cuffs at his elbow. His skin was warm, like always, but I couldn't help but think that it hardly matched the bitter, stone cold condition of his heart.

Smithland directed us straight into the Joker's room. I gingerly helped hoist the bleeding man into his bed, but apparently something hard had caught on his blood-soaked wound…he writhed in his sheets and cackled senselessly, smearing his makeup without care into the pillow. Smithland shied away a little, and I couldn't help but follow suit…I was frightened of him again, just like I had been when he'd first arrived. Nothing could tame this creature…not even the hand of God himself.

We listened to him hum absently as we waited for Lieutenant Gordon to arrive. I observed him from afar, watching him bounce his head around to the beat of the song, his eyes rolling in to the back of his head sometimes as, undoubtedly, his thoughts ran around in circles and excited him like an eccentric puppy. His feet twirled in little circles…it seemed his entire body was moving along to that terrible, eerie melody emitting from deep within his throat.

But I couldn't, for the life of me, recognize the tune.

It seemed hours before Gordon arrived...but in reality, it had only been fifteen minutes we'd been waiting there for him. He was in a rush when he waltzed in, his hair all a mess and just settling back into submission as he stopped beside Smithland and looked over the deranged sociopath lying in his bed, covered in blood, but seemingly untroubled by the fact that the wound was evidently seething.

"I thought you said you had him under control." The edgy, accusatory statement was directed toward me, and I looked up at Gordon with a frown as I realized both he and Smithland had their eyes on me.

"I did, Lieutenant. He was doing fine until this morning…" I scowled, trying not to sound too angry. Gordon was basically the head of the police, if you didn't count the Commissioner. I had to be careful about what I said to him…he'd earned respect, and it was my duty as a citizen, and as an acquaintance, to give him that well deserved regard.

"I think we should take him downtown now, for questioning. Then, we'll lock him up." Gordon advised, and Smithland nodded in agreement. I, however, did not…my heart sped up into a violent, racing tempo. I leapt from my chair, and the Joker suddenly got really quiet; he stopped humming altogether.

"You can't!" I protested, jumping in front of the bed to block the men's view of the criminal lying on the cot in front of them.

"And why not?" Smithland growled, furrowing his brow as he tried to deter my thoughtless whim, however unsuccessful he was.

Gordon merely stared at me, waiting for my excuse.

"He's bleeding, can't you see that? His stitches are probably ripped again…obviously, you can't take him into prison like that. He'll die." I stated obstinately, balling up my fist as Smithland scoffed sarcastically.

"Perhaps we should send him in anyway, Lieutenant. That'll be one less psychotic, homicidal maniac to stalk our streets and degrade our society."

"Our society is already degraded, sir," I argued haughtily. "And I'm afraid, while the Joker is bedridden again for another week for ripping his stitches, it would be rather hard to degrade it even further than it already is with him in here, doing nothing but crossword puzzles and Sudoku all day."

Smithland's entire expression faltered and deflated into a dark, warning scowl.

"She's right, Smithland…we can't take him while he's wounded. In the meantime, we'll just have to improvise with the situation we have…"

Gordon pushed me lightly aside and stepped in front of the Joker, who looked up at him with an erratic sort of smile beginning to creep up the sides of his mutilated cheeks. The Lieutenant tried to ignore that dry, filthy grin and fixed his attention on the wrists bound together by impersonal, cold rings of steel. He unhooked one, and while I was thinking he was going to remove the other, he instead latched it to the bedpost and made sure it was securely fastened in place.

"Where are his knives?" Gordon looked up from the handcuffs and averted his gaze toward me.

"I've stashed them all at home," I assured him, then motioned to the switchblade in Smithland's flaccid grip. "That one is the only one he'd had left."

"Good, then we're through here, let's take this conversation out in the hall, shall we?"

He took me by the shoulder and led me out of the room, and I glanced back at the Joker, who waved irreverently at me in return, the leer on his face growing ever wider with each passing moment. Smithland followed us out, shutting the door roughly behind him.

"Chelsea, here are some new ground rules you'll have to follow…you'll only be allowed back here during your breaks, in which you will be accompanied by a fellow nurse or doctor and be given fifteen minutes at a time to feed him, change his gauze and make sure everything is in order. There will be no talking, no hand gestures of any kind…hell, don't even look at the man. You have only one job now, and that is to nurse him back to health. The moment he's healed enough to be taken into custody, you are to report to me immediately and we'll take it from there, alright? We'll have someone special looking after you...he'll be escorting you home at night, just in case."

Gordon winked at me, hinting that it would be no ordinary guard that would be following me home to see that I got there alright. He meant Batman, obviously…but it was only clear to Gordon and I, while Smithland had no idea who we were talking about…at all. He nodded at both of us before walking quickly down the hall, disappearing around a corner after a moment or two, and all was left of the original party was me and a gaunt looking Smithland.

"Alright, go stitch up your experiment. I'll be waiting in the staffroom; we have a matter to discuss."

"Yes, sir." I promised, and disappeared into the room as the old doctor walked away, ignoring Gordon's new rule completely…that, or he'd just forgotten.

The Joker was wheezing in pain, though it was safe to say he was enjoying it by the way he was grinning wildly, when I walked in. By now, I'd stitched him twice, and had the sense to carry a sterilized needle and wire thread with me knowing that I might have to sew him up again at any time.

His eyes, which were usually quite fixated on my face all the time, were taking in the sight of bruises decorating the sides of my neck. Now that Smithland and Gordon weren't in the room, a sudden fear overwhelmed me, and my fingers shook so hard and so fast that it took me a long time to thread the needle. I didn't know if I could go near him again, not after the encounter we'd had the day before last.

But then my focus settled on the handcuffs that chained one of his able hands to the wall…it made me feel a little safer, but still a hesitancy to approach him made me stand back, unsure about the situation. I tried to predict his mood…at the moment, he seemed jovial enough, what with being in pain and all. Perhaps he wouldn't lash out at me again if I asked permission….if I was allowed to touch him by his consent.

"What is it that you're _waitin'_ for, doll face? Are you waitin' for me to bleed to death, I mean…what?"

I glanced up at him, and saw him swipe that overly eager tongue over his scars again.

"Oh, I know…it's the scars, ain't it?" He smirked viciously. "Ah, I never told you how I got 'em, did I?! Well, if ya come over here and ah -stitch me up before I _shrivel_ up into a little raisin, I'll be happy to _enlight-ahn_ ya."

Now that I was given permission, I stepped forward a little more confidently, pulling back the hideously stained green vest and shirt, noticing that the crimson bloom had spread out even further amongst the custom made material. There it was, the offending area, some of the wiry thread undone at the top of the gash, near the spot where I'd sewn him up last time.

"Ya see, before these scars, I'd been a boring sort of man…I never really knew how to have _fun_. I never saw the bright, funny side of life because I was always too busy _frowning_ and being _dull_ about everything. Now, one day, I'm walkin' home from my dreary ol' job, and I get pushed into an alleyway, where a guy, he's desperately searchin' me for money," He pauses to lick his lips and shut his rolling eyes in erotic pleasure as I pull the thread through his torn, sensitive skin. He grunts, and his lids fold back to reveal dark, churning irises. "So, hummm – I, ah, take this bub by the collar and tell him I don't got no fuckin' money. He don't like that I've got a temper, and he picks up a bottle and smashes it behind my head on the dirty brick wall. He takes one of the longer broken shards, holding it up for me to see. 'Let's slice a permanent smile on that serious ol' face of yours!', he says, and grabs me by the neck and pushes me to the wall, where he proceeds to carve -" at this he flexes the corners of his mouth, making the scars dance along to the motion. "This into my face. After that-uh, I swore to the Devil _heemself_ that I'd never frown again, not for the world, no, no – and well, hey! I kept my promise…" He grinned darkly, his eyes flashing with the threat of a cackle. "Didn't I, doc?"

I ignore him and finish up the last of my clean row of stitches, trying to hide the undeniable shudder that courses a shot of cold, ominous fear through my veins. It travels up and down my spine at the thought of the malignant tale, likely spun out of sheer whim by the way his lips curled back over his rotten, discolored smile.

Instead, I clip the bristly thread and pocket the defected tools after I place them back into the sealed carrier I'd brought them in. I don't speak to him, out of the slow, agonizing terror that materializes within me like a palpable specter inhabiting my very soul. But like always, I leave him food and water, then proceeded to walk towards the door.

It was there that he stopped me with an indignant remark.

"Ya know, doc, it only gets _harrrrder_ from here…you're gonna have to choose between your own useless sense of justice and what ya _reeeeallly_ want."

"That's where you're wrong, Joker," I murmured, not even bothering to turn and look at him. "There's nothing to choose between…it's just me and my wish to do what's right for the city."

"Ha!" He paused to spit out a choking laugh. "Go…go on, doll. **Lie**…_lie, lie, lie_ until karrrma comes around and ah - bites your tongue clean off. But you can't lie to yourself forever, sweets. Someday, you're gonna have to turn around and face me. Cause I'll always be there, a shadow in the back of that _purrrrdyy_ little head of yours."

I couldn't do it…I couldn't turn and face him. Instead, I ran; I ran from that room and slammed the door behind me. A shrill cackle resonated across the empty halls, filling every ghostly, vacant room and piercing my ears even harder than the cold, jabbing steel of his knife ever did. This, I couldn't run away from…that laugh would be imprinted in my head for forever. The knife was easily dodged; his menacing laugh I could never escape.

I was near tears by the time I reached the staffroom, finding Smithland drumming his fingers tediously on the table, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him.

"Ah, there you are, Chelsea," he sniffed pompously, gesturing to the seat in set out in front of him. "Have a seat so we can talk."

And I knew things were only going to get worse.


	10. Time Bomb

**Author's Note:**

**Rather short, but important. This is a little more character development for Chelsea as she begins to delve deeper into her own conflicting emotion.**

**Thanks to all of my anonymous reviewers. You guys are the best! :D**

**And Kat, you rock my socks...as always. ;)**

**This is a rather short author's note.  
Wow, I feel insufficient.**

**Anyway, onto the update.**

**The Joker belongs to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

* * *

By now, I'm trying not to burst into a fit of sobs, and it takes every last figment of my body to keep those tears that burn and prod behind my eyes at bay. I take Smithland up on his offer and sit down into the designated chair, collapsing on the table where I bury my face in my arms and try to escape a world that's slowly closing in around me. Claustrophobic tendencies begin to squeeze on my lungs, and my heart begins to throb deafeningly in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember where I was – but that just killed the moment for me, and I sunk deeper into the threat of impending tears.

"You look stressed, Chelsea." His remark was sardonic, and I looked up from my pitiable cocoon to find a complacent smile on his face.

"Nothing gets by you, sir." I retorted, wiping at my foggy eyes to rid them of any teary residue.

Smithland rose from his seat and started rummaging through a cabinet in the very corner of the staffroom. At first, I paid no attention to what he was doing until he pulled out a bottle of hard liquor and two shot glasses. My brow furrowed curiously; what in God's name was he up to?

"You look like you could use a drink." He slammed the shot glasses down on the table, one in front of me, and one in front of him.

The stench of alcohol wafted from the neck of the bottle as he tossed the cork to the side and poured the clear, toxic liquid into the two glasses, filling it up just beneath the half way mark before setting the bottle back down. In one swift motion, he threw back his head and emptied the contents of the shot glass down his throat, exhaling obnoxiously as he poured another shot.

"We're not supposed to drink at work, sir." I watched him closely as he took another swig of the liquor, wiping at his mouth distastefully. "It's against the rules."

"You know, Chelsea…I never did like how rigid you were with rules. Sure, there are rules that are made to make sure things are kept in order. But some rules are made to be broken," He spat at me, but in a contradicting gesture, pushed the shot glass my way, the one I dared not touch. "Go on. Let loose a little…you look like you're going to explode."

"Thank you, sir, but I make it a point to always follow the rules. Because, see, I figure it's made for a purpose, not just to be broken on a whim."

I pushed the shot glass back toward him and he chuckled. He didn't look so tired now, not with liquid courage in his system.

"You were always the morally responsible one, weren't you? It's not like people your age…you're supposed to be reckless."

"Perhaps sometimes it's better to break the mold." I quipped, and he didn't seem to hear my comment. He merely continued to indulge in his vile drink, while I sat there pointlessly with the rest of the hospital going on with their work behind me. I wanted to return to my job, not loiter around, waiting for Smithland to come to his sense and remember the discussion we were supposed to be having.

"You were working with Gordon the entire time…" My eyes narrowed suspiciously, and I crossed my arms over my chest in a stance of defense. "Weren't you?"

"You catch on quick, Grant. I was hoping you'd figure that out soon. What caused you to believe that?"

"Nothing, actually. Just women's intuition. The way you hid it was quite crafty…I would've never been able to figure it out if you hadn't specifically asked for Gordon when you were talking with Agnes. Oh yeah, I heard you. And so did the Joker."

"You're a smart girl. It's not a wonder they hired you." He wagged his finger at me, hiccupping from all the liquor.

"Just observant, doctor," I sighed heavily, realizing that there had been a plan going on all along behind my back and I'd been too lost in my own inhibition to find it out sooner.

"Well, I'm guessing you'd like to know how long this has been going on?" He suggested, quirking an eyebrow at me quizzically.

"Yes, sir."

He nodded heedfully, looking down thoughtfully at the ground. "The first day he got here, that's when. I thought I wouldn't have to, you see, 'cause no one was stepping up to help him in the first place. But then you came along and tried to convince us to help him, and I knew you were gonna do something about it the moment you overheard me talking to Agnes about the Joker being in the abandoned wing. Right when you went down there with those tools, that's when I called Gordon…that's when this whole thing started."

I listened carefully, but none of his endeavors surprised me. Smithland had never fully trusted me; hell, he didn't trust anyone but himself. It was Gordon that had me staggered, perhaps even disappointed. I'd looked up to him as an authority figure. I idolized him in almost every way possible, like a daughter aspiring to be just like her honorable father someday.

But then, I took into consideration the fact that Smithland was sneaky, and his lack of trust may have affected his choice on telling Gordon that I wasn't in on the scheme. Gordon might have never known that I was oblivious to the whole ordeal, and that maybe, he thought I'd been in on it all along…hence the reason he was so quick to trust me when I went in to ask him to remove the guard from the Joker's room.

All indications of dismay on my part flooded out of my system. Gordon had been just as oblivious to Smithland's whole plan as I was. We were both just pawns on the board…Smithland wanted the King now, and he'd kept us off to the side so he could lash out and get a hold on the Joker. But he'd missed…I could thank God for at least that. The Joker was safely manacled to his cot, in his room, alive and breathing with his body unscathed by a biting bullet. Someday, I would have to answer to God for being so shamefully grateful for that fact that he was still alive…but for now, I could savor the verity, even with that twinge of disgrace to tarnish a bittersweet victory.

I waited solemnly for Smithland to down another drink before he went on with his confessions.

"Anyhow, I never told Gordon about you, really. I just said that you were taking care of him and knew the sacrifices you were making for nurturing the whack job back to health. Of course, Gordon couldn't have you thinking he was watching your every move, so he told me to keep an eye on you, and if there was any trouble at all, he would send in a guard to watch over the Joker. So, when Miranda quit and filed a police report, he took that as a sign of trouble."

"So is this your plan, Smithland? Kill the Joker and have your revenge? This isn't the way the law works-"

He suddenly whirled on me in a flash of unexpected rage.

"Screw your precious law, kid! You don't know what it's like, to have him rip something you love and cherish right out of yours hands!" His fingers curled, and the depth and volume of his voice frightened me back in to my chair, cowering from his looming figure. I was sure he was going to hit me, but instead, he calmed himself and sat back down. I'd never been afraid of him like this before…not quiet, haggard old Doctor Smithland, who spent his days at the mindless drone, with only his patients to care for and look forward to. He was lonely, and it drove him to reclusion, to isolate himself from everyone around him.

An awkward silence ensued, but only for a moment.

"Look, I'm sorry I – I just can't let him get away with what he did, Chelsea. You have to understand…what he did was unforgiveable. I can never just let it go." He sighed, pushing feebly at his half full shot glass and sighing as he shoved it completely away.

I bit my lip, feeling suddenly ashamed of disliking him for so long when I didn't even know why…he was just another broken heart, someone that needed compassion.

"What did he do, doctor?" I mumbled, wringing my hands awkwardly.

"He took my wife away. She had gone to the bank to deposit a check, and the next thing I know, I turn on the news to find that bank in ruins after the Joker robbed it and detonated it into a thousand little pieces. My wife was the first hostage he shot…just because she was there, Chelsea. Just because she was there…"

"How did you find this out?"

"One of the hostages got away before the building could explode. I heard it on the news a short time later, that a Maureen Smithland was the first to be shot in the Joker's hostile takeover. The hostage told one of the news reporters, Mike Engel I think it was…he told him that she'd not made a sound, that he was just checking to see if his gun was working properly and shot her to test drive it. He's a monster, Chelsea, and I hate him for it. I'll always hate him for it…no matter how long I live, no matter how much I try to let it go."

I sighed and got up from my chair, searching for a Kleenex box as Smithland began to snivel into his drink again. His hands were shaking, and I tried to calm them as I knelt down in front of him, stuffing a tissue into his gnarled, wrinkled fingers.

For once, I didn't know what to say…I just sat there, feeling hypocritical and foolish for ever thinking of Smithland as a coldhearted brute who didn't have any capability of emotion. Of course he was empty…he'd been struck by tragedy, and by the hand of the man I was caring for no less. But for the life of me, I couldn't hate the Joker…I couldn't do it, even though he was a ruthless fiend, and even I was aware of that.

"Look, sir, I-"

"Go back to work, Chelsea." He muttered, looking down at the crumpled tissues in between his fists.

"What?" I blinked incredulously at his command, stunned for a moment by the suddenness of it.

"I said go back to work! I don't want you here anymore…just leave!" His voice rose again, and he looked up at me with a heated glare.

It was then that it struck me like a flying fist, as I walked out of the staffroom and shut the door behind me. Smithland would never forgive me for showing compassion to the person who'd thoughtlessly killed his wife…I would always be on his bad side, no matter what I did to try and redeem myself.

I guess it was right, what they always said…you just can't please everyone; there's always going to be someone left out in the cold.

The day just couldn't possibly get worse. I wasn't allowed to go back into the Joker's room, seeing that Agnes was determined about following Gordon's newly instated rules, and I tried not to think about him as I tended to my other patients. I was secretly crushed when I heard that the old woman that had been the kindest to me, the one who'd imparted words of infinite wisdom to me only a day before, had died from internal complications following a gunshot wound.

And it only obliterated me even more to find out from her husband, a weakly old man with tears in his wizened blue eyes, that she'd been shot by the Joker…another wonderful addition to pile up on the list of casualties the Joker had left in his path.

It was getting harder and harder for me to cope with the fact that I still couldn't hate him, even with the many lives he'd taken and the families he'd left devastated in his wake. He was like a rampant tornado, ripping the foundation of life from beneath Gotham's feet until there was nothing left but a pile of rubble to their name. I felt like I was the only one left untouched by his wrath…but something told me my turn would soon come.

By the time six rolled around, Agnes permitted me to venture back into the unknown, following me like an overly caring parent watching her child slip deeper into the haphazard realm of danger. She looked slightly unsettled by the darkness and the silence that surrounded us, breaking over us like waves pounding on the shores of a wasted beach. It certainly felt like being held beneath water…and that same sensation of feeling unable to breathe afflicted the both of us as we inched closer and closer toward that damnable room.

I told her she could wait outside the door, and she nodded in compliance, eager to fulfill my request.

Then, I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled as I pushed open the door, finding a set of impetuous, unpredictable eyes fixated expectantly on me. He'd been waiting for me; at least that was evident in the way his cheeks began to crinkle into a smug, knowing sneer.

"Aren't you the brave little solider…embarking on a quest into no man's land without an _ah-comp-uh-liss_?" He giggled hysterically, his body quivering with delight, but the look in his eyes depicted that he was amused by something completely different…I knew exactly what it was, too, and it was enough to make me feel reduced to the height of a worthless ant.

"I brought the front desk clerk with me. She's standing right outside the door." I corrected him, and he frowned, turning his head away from me in displeasure. It seemed I discontented him often these days…a pang of repentance pummeled my heart and made it sputter pitifully.

"Ya know, doc…I gotta hand it to you. You're one sick puppy…you just can't get enough of me, can ya?"

"I only do what I am told to do. Nothing more, nothing less."

"There ya go, kiddo. Lyin' to yourself…you'd be better off drowning yourself in a tub of holy water with the way you're goin'. You'll be inheriting a one way ticket straight to Hell for all the lies you've been spittin' at me."

"I'm not lying. I'm not…I swear I'm not." I felt the tears brush past my eyes once again, promising to reveal me for the pathetic creature I really was…right in front of him, right before the Devil himself.

"Oh, but _yes_…yes you are, sweets. I can see it in those ah- those lovely little eyes of yours. What, did ya really take me for a fool? Humm, I beg to differ, _snookums_…I know, uh, how things work. And now you, I'll admit you were a tricky puzzle to finish…but I've got you all sorted out, now that I've got a hang of the way you tick. You're a _bomb_ just waitin' to go off, and I just _love_ explosives."

He licked at his lips, and though I couldn't see it with my back turned, I could hear that nauseating popping sound as he smacked his lips together. He'd already found me out before I could even put together the pieces…I didn't know what it was that he knew, and I was afraid to find out. But all I knew at the moment was that I couldn't let him get to me.

I only have five minutes left to suffer around him. Five minutes in which I had to check his gauze, leave him food and water and get out of there as soon as I could before I broke down in tears right in front of him.

He didn't say anything else...just leered at me with that wicked, arrogant grin of his as I turned and stepped cautiously toward him, my arms outstretched for the bloodstained fabric of his vest and shirt. His eyes darkened even more, two gluttonous pits of Hell staring at me straight from the depths of the netherworld. I had to keep reminding myself he was shackled to the cot…he couldn't do anything to me, even if he wanted to. He was defenseless.

But as I reached abruptly forward in an impulsive spurt of confidence, he caught the back of my head with his spider-like fingers, the gloved hands keeping my head steady as he growled enthusiastically and that serpent's tongue reached from the caverns of his mouth, slipping the entirety of its sweltering hot length over my neck, his hot, fervent breath making my skin crawl uncomfortably beneath his animalistic gesture…I suddenly felt dirty, unclean like some leper.

He was tasting me, testing the meat to see if it was tender enough for his preference, and by the way he let out a lecherous little sound of satisfaction, I knew that he liked what he'd found…

I ripped myself away from him, and would have lost my footing if it'd not been for the wall behind me that I latched myself onto and held like a vice for dear life. My breathing was labored, and I couldn't tell if it was from sheer horror or brazen stimulation…my eyes widened at the thought of even asking myself that question.

The Joker chuckled mockingly, a resonation that rumbled deep within his throat. Couldn't Agnes see what was going on in here? Couldn't she see how conflicted I was?

_Should I stay, or should I go_…the inquisition branded into my mind and stayed there, appearing intermittently within my head like an unanticipated blinding light.

In a rush, I performed the duties I was expected to carry out…check his gauze, which was clean enough and get him food and drink. I threw a sandwich at him and a bottle of water without stopping to see if they'd even made it to his bed. He cackled manically behind me…oh, how my tangled emotions pleased him.

That's all I'd become to him…a doll to throw around and verbally abuse at his will. But I had to care for him…I couldn't leave him to die. Besides, I was too involved with the scheme to let little things like his perpetual mind games knock me out of the way.

Despite how rattled and dirty I felt from the encounter I'd had with the Joker only moments before, I walked home in a slow form of inflating peace, knowing somewhere, in the opaque shade, there was a dark angel looking over me.

And he knew and understood my pain.


	11. Unveiling the Clandestine

**Author's Note:**

**A lot of people have been asking about the Joker's licking gesture...it's an act of defiance to the normal feeling of guilt for hurting a woman as well. It's him relishing the fact that he hurt her, like he was proud of it, and enjoyed the taste of her skin along with it. Very animalisitic, like I said before. I only explained this here because it won't be mentioned later on in the story. It was just a minor detail, and has meaningful, but only metaphorical signifigance to the story.**

**Anyway, thank you to all my anonymous reviewers, yet again!  
I am really, really glad that you guys are enjoying this so much. It's a great feeling, knowing my writing is being enjoyed by more than just me and my easily excitable mother. ;)**

**Here's my usual shout out to KatxValentine, who inspires this story like no other. ;)**

**And the disclaimer part...**

**The Joker and Lieutenant James Gordon belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Though I was sure the hospital had been encumbered with enough chaos to last it an entire lifetime, I was thoroughly wrong. Apparently, it had needed more.

Police swarmed the place like cockroaches draped in navy blue, pestering nurses who seemed to be rubbing their temples and waving their hands in motions of intense frustration. Some looked like they were about to pop…others looked drone-like, as if their switch had been flipped to auto pilot, and they were running on sheer will alone.

As soon as I walked through those sliding doors, a cop as slick and unexpected as tires on black ice came lumbering toward me, his pen point at the ready with his interrogation notepad flipped open to a fresh page.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but have you anything to report on the whereabouts of a Dr. Jonathon Smithland last night at eight o' clock?" His voice was abrupt, very matter of fact and straight to the point. But before I could answer, with my brows knitted furiously and my mouth agape in horror at such an antagonizing question, Gordon ushered the man off to anger another poor soul, and stepped up with his hands falling and settling at the base of his hips. I recognized this as habit…perhaps in overexertion when it came time to be the bearer of bad news.

"What's going on, Lieutenant?" My eyes flickered from the distressed nurses and doctors being prodded and picked at by merciless cops. "What's happened?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly, staring at his worn, lackluster shoes. "We, uh, got a call this morning from a very flustered witness to a rather brutal and rather surprising murder."

"Whose murder?"

My throat tensed…had someone gotten to the Joker and smothered him in his sleep? Surely, no one here would have the lack of sense to let just anyone go down there when he was a known homicidal maniac. My heart rumbled painfully in my chest as I watched Gordon's mouth grow taut with unease, that one little gesture tearing a hole in me that was growing with each passing second that he stalled. I suddenly wondered if he got a kick out of watching people gnaw away at themselves before breaking the news to them...but Gordon didn't seem the type. He was much too mild and good natured for that sort of mental torture.

That was the Joker's job.

"Smithland, actually," he spoke in a voice that suggested guilt, and nodded his head sheepishly. I was under the impression that he took the blame upon himself. "A woman was taking out her trash this morning and found him cut up into fourths. There were signs of struggle…blood on the walls, scratch marks in the brick as well. But there was no weapon, no D.N.A left behind and not a single trace of the murderer on Smithland's body. So far, we have no suspects."

As Gordon was talking, I couldn't help but wallow in shame at the wave of relief that swelled over me in a rush of realization. It was tragic that Smithland had died, and I was partly disappointed by the happenstance…but it irked me that I had first been afraid that it had been that madman, the lunatic who seemed hell bent on driving me to the brink of an enormous breakdown, that was dead, and not the doctor who'd saved many lives and had dealt with many terrible mistakes in his past. I was celebrating the survival of the Joker instead of feeling a sense of loss over the death of a coworker, and no matter how much I disliked him, I should have felt at least a little sorrow over his passing.

Especially since his parting sounded so terribly gruesome.

I tried to push the tangled thoughts from my head, sorting them into piles for future contemplation. My focus now was Gordon, who was still rambling on about suspects and murder details…I tried to concentrate, but my mind kept getting sidetracked by that one little ethereal room at the end of the hall, the gateway to hell, where the god of war sat on his throne as he concocted depraved means of destruction to wreak havoc on the lives of us mere, humble mortals.

I could almost imagine that leer on his painted lips, like smeared blood after a fresh kill. It made me tremble all the way to the base of my incensed nerves, his mind games that he so enjoyed playing on me seeming to follow me everywhere I went now. They played on every last thread of my being like the taut bowstrings of a shrieking violin.

"…Anyhow, we'll be letting you know if we get a lead on any prime suspects, but for now, we've got no idea."

I seemed to awake from my haze and found Gordon there, looking utterly defeated in the way his charcoal head, sprinkled with woven lines of white, bowed and rocked from side to side in shame. His shoulders slumped from long nights without sleep, and I took pity on the man. I took his weatherworn hand into mine and patted it gently. He looked up at me, perplexed by my forward gesture.

"Look, Lieutenant, I can see you're all bent out of shape about this. But it's not your fault…you couldn't have seen this coming, just like the rest of us. You're only human, you know…you can't do everything at once. You have to know your limits. Please, don't beat yourself up about Smithland being murdered. I know it's tough because he was well-liked around here, but there's nothing you can do right now. All you can do is say that you tried. You really did, Gordon. You tried to your hardest to keep us all safe…"

I realized it was the first time I'd called upon him so informally, and I dropped his hand. He blinked wearily and a brief, sideways grin caught the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you, Chelsea," he crooned softly, his voice still peppered lightly with bereavement. "Take care of yourself. I don't want to have your blood on my hands as well."

"I think I'll be perfectly fine, Lieutenant. I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself." I assured him, unwavering in my resolution.

He smiled then, a passing notion that almost reminded me of reminiscence. But then he was called to attention by one of the encroaching officers, and turned to her, listening to the newest status report. I took the opportunity to slip from the anxious atmosphere of the room and into the desolate, yet tranquil quiet of the abandoned hospital wing.

I just wanted to get this over with…I'd equip him well for a day or two so I wouldn't have to come back so quickly. There was just too much on my mind for me to risk going in there and being influenced by those poisoned, toxic thought tendrils he interweaved within my mind. Part of me was anxious to go in there, but another half of me, the delirious half, wished to find him asleep, so I could indulge in the fact that the man I would never know, the individual spirit who had died off long before the Joker had even plagued this place with his formidable aura, would be there, just the same as he appeared in my most farfetched dreams….I was always wishing to find him asleep now. Just to see the part of him that I knew would never breathe another sagacious word again.

Perhaps I was just too infatuated with the man he used to be to see the real forest for its burning trees.

The blinds that allowed privacy for patients were pulled closed when I walked past the usually unblocked window. I couldn't help but think that I'd never touched those blinds before…I figured Agnes had done it, or even I had pulled them closed when I wasn't thinking probably, most likely when I was being tormented by vicious mind games. In my fragile state, a leftover reaction to the traumatizing situation I'd suffered just the day before, I didn't think I could handle more of his assumptions.

I prayed to God, in his infinite and kind, loving wisdom, to have the demon lulled into a deep and luscious dream, so I could pass safely through the minefield and not tip off any angry bombs that were currently ticking in that powerfully unstable room, just itching to explode at the first sign of conflict.

At first, I couldn't do it…I just stood there, gripping the door handle with a vice hold, listening to a voice of reason scream like a rampant banshee in my head to just run away…run away and never look back, before it was too late to refuse.

But I just couldn't; I had a job to do, and he was reliant on me if he and I wanted to admit it or not. Nonetheless, I seemed caught in this unending spiral. If I turned back now, I might have a chance of escape. But if I did turn away, Gotham would have to answer for my mistake. And as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn't just abandon him like that.

I knew it, the first moment I caught a glimpse of every last occurrence when I'd find him asleep in his bed, the instant I took his hand into mine and felt that surreal rush of warmth exude from his mortal skin. I couldn't just let him die…as twisted and sadistic as his soul was, it was still God's property. It wasn't up to me to decide…it was up to me to do all in my power to keep him alive.

So, after a relentless five minutes of conflict, I squeezed the handle and turned it slowly, the door groaning in protest as it swerved on its hinges and I stepped through the opening just enough to peek my head in and scan the premises. There was no rustling movement, no exuberant noises of exhilaration at having his new toy arriving for more torture. All was silent, a deafening white noise that filled every nook and cranny of the room.

He was asleep.

I closed my eyes in another one of those guilty flashes of relief. He was most compatible when he was asleep, which was a sad truth within itself, being that he was just human again and no longer that fearsome incarnate of Ares that I dreaded to find myself unwillingly devoted to.

And then I took my first step into the room.

The first thing I noticed was the piece of paper stuck to the wall above his bedpost by the means of a pocket knife. I took a mental note to check his clothes after sedation, seeing as it was possible he had more of those pesky little trinkets stashed in his trousers somewhere, or even his socks for that matter.

But it wasn't just the knife that held the paper there that caught my attention. It was the subject of the paper and condition it was in that transfixed my eyes there and possessed them to fully examine the sheet. It was a crossword puzzle with a title that explained the subject as "Pocahontas". It was hardly finished; in fact, it didn't even appear to be touched until you reached the very middle of the scrambled jumble of words.

There, in the middle of the chaotic word mess was the name 'John Smith', with the signature hollow, black paint painted into two circles over the words with the remarkable likeness of staring, knowing eyes. Beneath the name, there was that infamous Glasgow grin, and around it, the rip marks of an overly eager knife to emphasize the importance of that one name.

Either the Joker hated John Smith from Pocahontas, or he was trying to hint at something…something he intended to do.

Or otherwise, had _already_ done.

I backed suddenly into the wall as the epiphany hit me and bashed me into the wall with unyielding force. He couldn't have…he was still chained to his bed! Those handcuffs were still intact, leaving angry red marks to scathe the olive flesh of his skin.

But he'd made it painfully obvious, taunting me with the evidence there, a predatory gesture just aching to lure his prey into making an imprudent move. Now, the mind games worsened…I would be tortured day in and day out for this.

Because he knew I wouldn't turn him in.

How he knew and the reason for my inability to scurry out that infernal door and let out a terrified, bloodcurdling scream of realization as I made a mad dash for Gordon completely baffled me…I didn't know the answer myself. I only sat there, breathing arduously, clutching my chest as a ripping sensation pulsated through the delirium.

The only thought that overcame my mind was that he was sleeping…and that I wanted to go over there and touch that immobile hand.

My back slid down the wall and I collapsed into a heap of indecision like a limp ragdoll, just lying on the cold, hard floor, trying to make sense of my allegations. How could he have done it? Surely, he had no way of getting out of those handcuffs unless he had some way of picking the lock…

Then the possibility of the knife entered my dazzled head. Of course, it was obvious that he'd used the knife…it was small enough to wedge into that miniscule lock, and certainly useful if he knew how to do such things, which I did not doubt that a mind, as mischievous and devilish as the Joker's mangled, distorted abilities, that he did. I wanted to cry again, but I felt stupid for wanting to do such a helpless thing as weep. I'd wept far too much for the past few days for my liking, and wiped irately at my eyes as they went against my wishes and moistened anyway.

Smithland and I were never close…but that didn't justify the fact that the Joker had certainly killed him, brutally no less. My thoughts wandered to the possibility of his stitches being ripped again after his nighttime prowl, though he hadn't ventured far from the hospital, only across the deserted streets. However, it was enough to wheedle the stitches from their death grip, and I had to force down the bile that had risen in my throat enough so that it was safe to inch my way slowly toward the sleeping figure without heaving all over the floor. Obviously, my stomach was also taking the brunt of my inner battles…it wasn't taking to digesting the facts very well at all.

Thoughts twirled nonchalantly in my head about the possibility that God would strike me dead for having even a sliver of dispute over my unchanged position concerning this monster. If he decided to, I hoped he'd do it quickly before the monster in question woke up from his slumber. I didn't want him to catch me in the act, having no permission to breach his boundaries, and find myself at the point of some unforeseen knife summoned from his sock.

However, the Joker seemed much too enthralled by his dream. The way his scars twitched and the sneer that unfurled from the blossom of his lips signaled he was adoring the way his imagination was weaving, and that if I was silent, if I was completely noiseless and careful, I could perform my duty without that dreaded knife pressed to my neck again.

I brushed back his unfastened green vest and unbuttoned the buttons of his hexagonal patterned shirt. My breath had grown exceptionally shallow at this point, and trembled hysterically with unadulterated fear as I stared with wide, expectant eyes at his dormant face. My heart melted at the peaceful sight, as it did when I trapped him in that rare moment of tranquility…but as he moved slightly and awoke me from my daze, I remembered my mission.

Breathing became a difficult, staggering task again, and I peeked under the gauze just enough to check the stitches. Luckily, for me, they were still in tact. I let out an inward sigh of relief as I was released from the obligation of sewing up his wound again. I could just leave the food and make a run for it…hopefully for the last time for a day or two.

I wasn't sure I'd be able to properly show my face in this purgatory again without fear of him nitpicking my secret thoughts again. They were secret for a reason…even kept from my own scrutiny, for my own good of course. But he saw right through my blockade. He'd knocked it down and stomped boldly over the rubble to snatch the truth from my covert subconscious.

He knew…and it was unsettling that it was the brute who knew my own secrets, and that I did not.

I let my thoughts run away with me as I set enough food and drink on his table to last him a day and a half of my absence. And although I tried to feign ignorance to that haunting crossword page strung happily up on the wall, I couldn't help but steal a glance its way…that just projected me from the room faster, and I was speeding down the dark halls ardently before I knew it.

I only hoped a day's recuperation would let me build up that strength I'd lost when he discovered my deepest, darkest enigma.

And that a day's recuperation would reveal that secret to me, its rightful master.


	12. Repentance

**Author's Note:**

**I apologize for the severe lack of updates that you guys have had these last two days. But not only have I been busy, but whenever I had even the slightest bit of free time, I was uninspired. ****However, inspiration struck me tonight, and I was able to produce this...the last chapter before all the real action begins. Before the plot twist. :D**

**Thank you very much to my anonymous reviewers! Your encouragement is just as well recieved as everyone elses, and I'm happy that you all take the time to review!**

**Kat, thank you for your counsel! It helped this chapter out tonight. :D**

**And this is the last little bit of character development for Chelsea.  
It's more of her musing than anything.**

**The Joker belongs to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

* * *

The long weeks passed, and even with the Joker still on his hospital cot in that dirty, abandoned room, there were still deaths sprinkling the headlines of Gotham's top newspapers.

First it was Smithland, then an officer Brooklyn Lyon, the very same that had been watching the Joker for the few minutes that I had gone off to mend the situation with it hanging off the edge of dangerous on its last thread. I should've known he would have been the next to suffer…and not only because of my woman's intuition. Now it was Commissioner Loeb and Judge Sorillo that had been added to the rising body count, and Gordon had been promoted to replace the deceased figure of authority.

The Joker had left another one of his taunting signs of propaganda above his bed. I had walked in to tend to him as was usual for me, and I was nervous and frightened out of my wits just at the sight of that lecherous, knowing simper and his unfathomably dark, glittering eyes.

I was sure he was plotting to kill me sometimes, to gut me like a fish in my sleep once he found out where I lived.

Looking through his impudent gaze, I found a cruel, acrimonious promise in those fiery pits which stared down the long, empty path of oblivion in their shaded aura. But then again, it was surely just torture…that was one of his favorite games, the torment of the unknown. He played it frequently, running his fingertips along the blade I was much too cowardly to swipe from his spidery hands.

It pained me to watch him when he did things like this, witnessing the terrible impiety that those hands I adored so much, as he wielded unending pain on a weakened city. Ignoring his fingers as they ran along the sharpened edge of his knife was just another dismissal of my ignorance. I couldn't bear to tell myself the truth anymore. It was easier to just lie, as to ease the pain of knowing he was truly a murderer, and the man I wished to meet, the one that was extinguished by a rampant fire, would never come alive in those dead, hollow eyes again.

But it had been that last morning, the very last that had occurred three days ago. I saw it over his cot, the sign as barefaced as his cheeky grin. There was a picture of a decapitated lion, exquisitely drawn of course, with the blood which gushed from the open, gaping wound accentuated with his red grease paint. It matched his scarlet-stained smile perfectly.

He cackled as I fled the room, running from the demon which haunted my every waking moment and my every dream. Three weeks, I'd dealt with his mind games, his endless torment…I needed a few days off, just to blow off some steam and recollect my ability to remain stolid in front of him. I had breached my emotional borders, I had foolishly let him decipher the tears in my eyes every time I folded like a Chinese paper doll at his bedside to inject pain medication into his I.V. and he would see it when I would take those mortal hands into mine to administer the liquid relief.

I'd let myself become too personal with him and he'd not taken it for granted like I would have hoped.

With three days of time off to look forward to, naturally I'd had to temporarily pass on my duties to Agnes, who inherited them with a whitened face at the thought of tending to the fiend, but reluctantly agreed nonetheless. She knew I was at the edge of a breakdown, and had even voiced her opinion herself as she took my hand and squeezed it with her own crinkled, aged fingers.

"Chelsea, I don't even know how you made it this far. It's a miracle you haven't been transferred to Arkham with the way he torments you. Don't think that I don't see it…I'm standing right outside the door as it goes on. I am very sorry that I cannot do anything about it…I'm much too frightened of him to set foot in that room for more than five minutes, let alone speak to the brute. You're a very brave girl, my dear. I hope your courage can help you defeat this demon."

Her words had galvanized me, and I felt the heavy burden that had encumbered my shoulders lift and dissipate. But it was only for the time being…it would return as soon as I stepped back onto the threshold of relentless chaos, and faced the god of war once again.

It was a decidedly dreary day, even considering the advent of autumn which had stricken the city and left it under a spell of feigned winter. It was just the coming of the bleak dawn, when everything would turn to ashes and be lost beneath a blanket of white snow.

But it wasn't there just yet, and though the sidewalks glistened from the rolling mists. It was late afternoon, and still a thick, heavy fog hung low over the city, coating everything from the tallest skyscraper to the lowest scrape of ground with twinkling dew.

I sat on a bench in the park, wrapped in two warm layers to ward of the impish chill and my cold ears stuffed under a hat. I was sipping on a cup of Brody's Coffee Shop apple cider, a warm and toasty feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't help but think of how nice it was to be away from the Joker's warped intentions, but also how surreal it was, watching the world go by as I stayed trapped in my own stupid naivety.

I couldn't help but think as I saw a young couple across from me exchanging loving glances and intermittently sharing a soft kiss as they huddled close together to repel the frosty air. It made me feel even colder than I had been, and I wrapped an arm around my torso shamefully, trying to disregard the adoring couple in a sudden pang of guilt.

My mother had always wanted me to marry young, which was understandable considering she had fallen in love with my father and had married young herself. But as I continued to focus more on medical school than finding love, she began to lose hope in me that I would ever find someone to fill in the empty spaces of my life. She'd always told me that a life without love was barren, that I could possess every talent in the world and excel in my work. Hell, I could save Gotham from its slow downward spiral, and she said that all of it would be empty fulfillment if I didn't have someone to share my triumphs and my tribulations with.

If she could only see me now, who I'd ended up falling in love with…he wasn't even considered a living being anymore, just the shadow of a tragic past that outlines the living, breathing figure of a ruthless, vicious killer bent on inflicting chaos everywhere he went.

Another twang of remorse struck me, sitting there thinking exactly who it was I really loved…the waking madman who tormented me, or the somnolent silhouette of the reasonable figure he used to be.

My mother would roll over in her grave with anguish if she'd ever found out what a terrible fate I'd come to face.

In any case, whichever way I decided to present my attachments, he would only be seen for the man he was in waking; no one else had seen him when he was devoured by enticing dreams. No one else had felt the rough callus of his ordinary hands when they were wrapped in gossamer sleep, no one had reveled in the warmth his body emitted when his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his reveries.

I'd even found myself desperate enough to heavily sedate him sometimes when he least expected it, just to watch him sleep. Once, when my wistful tendencies became too much, I crawled into the cot with him, curling into his side and resting my head beneath the crook of his freshly shaven chin as his cadenced breathing lulled me into a false sense of security. His heartbeat had pounded into my ears, surprising me with the fact that he even had a heart at all, and those human hands had rested motionless at his side, inert in their body's state of repose.

Genuine tears had formed in my eyes when I picked up that coarse hand and wove my fingers through his, and they had trickled down my cheek in hopeless yearning while my eyes closed and I swallowed back the sobs that rippled through my aching chest.

It had taken all I had within me not to suddenly start weeping where I had lain, and to conjure a presence of comfort to help me choke back my adamant tears, I took his arm and had placed around my middle.

It was the beginning of a low point for me, where the delirium had overwhelmed me and pushed me toward the edge of lost reason. I had submerged beneath the surface too far; I could never have the man who had once been, and could only satiate my wish to know him in stolen moments, only when his head was filled with vivid pictures of his wildest dreams.

Even just thinking of that moment only a few weeks before made the swell of impending tears push and burn at the back of my eyes. I covered my face with my hands, shielding myself from embarrassment, a side of me I didn't want the world to see. I'm sure it only brought more attention, the girl who was concealing her countenance on a park bench, all alone with only her cup of cooling cider for console.

I was a wreck, but I didn't want the whole of Gotham to know my toils.

By the time I'd lowered my hands and pushed back the tears far enough where they couldn't escape, the couple that had been lounging in the bench across from me had gone. Not a trace of them was left behind, except for the legacy of their love story.

My mind kept whirling around the fact that my mother would be so disappointed in me, the choices I'd made to keep my sights set on my career and the imaginary man I'd fallen in love with. I could see her now, shaking her head as her eyes cast their fixation on the ground. I could almost hear her now, filling my head with her philosophies.

"When you look in the mirror, Chelsea, what do you see? Have you become everything you always wanted to become? Have you made promises and then kept them as you had sworn? Have you found everything you thought you'd find at the end of the paths you took? Or is your life just an empty shell...works and accomplishments can't fill an empty life, darling. It's what you fill with love and hope and happiness that make everything you did and everything you will do a success."

I missed her so much, especially now when I needed her comfort the most. There was no new path I could take with the road I was choosing against my will, and I was scared, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to turn back once sense returned and I could have the ability to want the things she'd wanted for me. The track I was pursuing was dark and treacherous, and there were no words of wisdom to bring me back to the dawn as I walked further into twilight.

I rose now, from the stiff park bench and headed toward the street to hail a cab. Once I had flagged down a driver and paid him the money, I gave him the address for the flower boutique a few blocks away. He took the money and silently agreed…the drive was short, but felt so long as I watched the buildings float by in its dismal world of black and gray.

"Thanks," I remarked as I slid out of the seat. I'd barely closed the door behind me before he raced off, not even allowing me the normal gracious reply for my expression of gratitude. I figured he was just eager to get the wretched, miserable girl out of his car before it cramped his buoyant style.

The old woman that ran the flower shop kept her distance, tending to more willing customers as she took the hint that I just wanted to be left alone. Surely, she had not taken it in the sense that I was trying to be rude…I only wanted to be sift through my thoughts as I skimmed the rows of flowers, searching for my mother's favorite roses. By the time I had found them, the shop had drifted back into its cheerful silence. I paid for the softly tinged blossoms and left without another word.

It was a short walk to the cemetery, but the way that my feet had begun to drag with reluctance made the distance seem that much longer. But soon enough, the tall, black wrought iron gates began to edge the side of the walkway, and the uncanny setting of the rolling stretches of vibrant grassland painted with gray slabs of etched stone filled my perception. I'd never liked cemeteries…it only reminded me how truly fragile the state of human life really was, how fleeting it seemed compared to the interminable reach of time. We were merely a stain on history, nothing more, nothing less.

I was able to find her grave site quickly, after so many months of just sitting there amongst the ethereal silence, craving her presence if even it meant staring at an impassive headstone. The aftermath had been crippling, and most of my free time, during the daylight hours, had been spent here, where I was able to be close to her even in death.

Slowly, my anguish had dwindled, and only a numb remainder of the staggering pain that had been there before settled in the back of my head. It was only resurrected during the hard times, and there had been many during the last five years she had been gone.

It was quiet, with just me amongst the sea of headstones with riddled the envious green meadow. I sat there sniffling obnoxiously, picking at the grass as I tried to distract myself from the accumulating lump in my throat, the stabbing pain in my chest that sporadically penetrated my aching heart.

"Look, mom, I know-" I paused to swallow hard against the expanding mass in my esophagus, feeling my eyes begin to swelter again. "I know that I never got married and never really fell in love for real before. I mean, I had my crushes and all, and you knew that because I'd always tell you and you'd roll your eyes at me even though you were happy that I was always so thrilled about the whole thing…but I have something to tell you, something that, if you were alive today, you'd be so very disappointed in me for…"

My cheeks were stained red from the overexertion of trying to restrain the whimpering tears, and I picked sheepishly at the blades of grass in between my fingertips.

"So, if you were alive today, you'd definitely know about the Joker. He's a madman, mom, I'm telling you…Gotham is dying even faster now because of him, falling even faster beneath this crushing anarchy he's got us trapped in. Anyway, about a month ago, I received him as a patient…I think I would have been safe if he wouldn't have kept ripping his stitches, but I think it was all part of his plan all along, to keep himself incapacitated so that he could torment me longer. So, naturally, I was around him often, and after the first time I saw him sleep, I was fascinated by that other side of him, the part of him that no one saw because he was always waking in their presence. But I saw…I saw a man when he is in dreams, and I saw that there was something behind that demonic leer that meant more than just a formidable power, you know? I saw a human being behind the god of war…"

The blades of grass were reduced to nothing as they slipped through my fingers, and I reached for more, wetting my lips to try and make my confession easier to slip through my drying, reluctant mouth.

"So, mom, I guess I fell in love with him…and I know, even now, you're turning away from me in shame up in Heaven; you've seen what he's done to us and have witnessed his deeds. But I don't know how else to explain myself, mom. I'm so ashamed of myself, for letting myself fall prey to this imaginary person who doesn't even exist anymore. And I'm sorry…I'm so sorry that I let you down. You deserved better, mom, you really did…you deserved to go to my wedding before you died; you deserved to hold your grandchild for the first time before you had to go. But I failed you, and now there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about the things I should have done when you were alive. I can't just turn back now and tell myself that I don't care about him, even if he is truly the most hateful monstrosity the world has ever seen."

Sobs racked my entire body as I sat there, tears drenching my hands in their white hot fervor. The mists around me swirled a little faster now, but I think that was only because I had grown dizzy, my head whirling with repentance and fear.

I knew now, what I needed to do, what I had to say to him to break his spell over me and to escape his torture, the pain of knowing I could never have what I wanted from him.

I unfolded my legs and leapt to my feet, trudging in my determined manner across the deserted grounds and making my way toward the wrought iron gates. The mists undulated and unfurled their sodden fingers, settling over the stretch of landscape just as I had gone through the gates, making my way toward the hospital…the last place on Earth I wanted to go. But I had to…

I acknowledged the fact that it would only be surrender, that I'd let him win those torturous games he played. But I couldn't do this any longer…I had to escape.

I had to say goodbye.


	13. Pucker Up, Dollface

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry about the lack of updates this weekend! I've not gotten a decent night's rest since Wednesday, really. So I look like crap, seriously.  
So I should get back to my two-a-day update routine by tomorrow. :D**

**Anyhow! Thank you to my anonymous reviewers!  
They are always immensely appreciated, really. ;)**

**SPECIAL THANKS !  
To Jokerized, who made me this really awesome promotional banner, which is also displayed on my profile for further adoration. ;)**

img255.imageshack.us/img255/841/storybannerdi8.png  
**Thanks again so much!**

**Kat, you are so awesome...I do hope you decide to do a sequel. ;)  
If you can't tell, I'm shamelessly promoting. :P  
That's KatxValentine.  
Go check her out if you haven't already!**

**Anyhow, here we go with the disclaimer jibber-jabber.**

**The Joker and Batman belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I stormed through the hospital, earning a few rather surprised double takes from a few employees who had been informed of my three day leave of absence. But most of them, as I could see from my peripheral vision, just shook their heads as I lumbered past; they figured I had always come back early in the past four weeks. They knew I was in love with him, in love with the madcap Joker, and most of them thought I belonged in an asylum for my downfall.

Even Agnes did not spare me her disappointment, and shook her head as I walked past. She knew I was heading for the loony bin fast as well…she just couldn't muster the guts to utter the scandalous phrase.

But that wasn't going to happen to me anymore.

I was giving in to his games, I was turning in my badge of courage and exchanging it for cowardice, so that I could salvage my sanity before it was too late. He couldn't just possess me like that, the way he had me wound around his finger just for the fact that I loved the man he was when he was not in waking.

This wistful thinking would come to an end in just a matter of minutes. The lights began to fade from their garish luminosity into the dim, flickering lighting of the shadow lands, the no man's land as he had once satirically called it. I felt like at any moment, someone would pop up out of the murky dwelling places and shoot me for my insolence of passing through the designated wasteland. But I had a mission to complete, a mission that would cost me my dimwitted heart, but save for me my precious sagacity.

I didn't even waste another moment to contemplate my ability to confront him. Instead, I ripped open that door, though my eyes were downcast meekly toward the ground. But as the door slammed behind my back, it echoed in the innermost recesses of my conscious mind.

There he was.

He was standing now, right before me, as if he'd been waiting patiently for me the entire time, like he knew I would come. But it was not the fact that he was out of his bed, dressed in his overcoat in the decorum that he was readying to leave.

Something else caught my attention and held it there, right on his visage.

It was naked.

His countenance had not a trace left of the comical relief of his clandestine mask, and in its place I found a handsome, youthful face, his features sculpted elegantly, from the form of his prominent cheekbones to the shape of his immortal eyes. I could distinguish the color now, a sort of dreamy shade of incandescent brown, shining as if illuminated by the very light of the heavens even with the lack of pure lighting that graced the contours of the grungy room.

But there, in the chasms of his eyes, there was a sardonic leer, one that I began to determine as I gazed into those distressingly beautiful irises. Even in the midst of my terror at the sight of that covert and shrewd smirk, I could almost tear my own heart from my chest and bestow it on him for imparting to me the gift of looking upon him without disguise.

And then I saw the scars, the horrendously ragged mutilation which coursed in jagged lines up the sides of his cheeks, tarnishing his olive skin and turning the ghostly wounds into a rare shade of pearly pink, smooth as the surface of a polished pebble beneath the intensity of a potent sun.

At first, they disgusted me, and I wished I could turn away so I wouldn't bear witness to such disfigurements that shattered the structured loveliness of his face, no matter how viciously set they were in a iniquitous simper. However, moments wore on, and the blemishes merely promoted a sense of humanity. He was just as easily wounded as the rest of us, draped in human skins.

"Why, doc…you look deh-_cide_-dly flushed! Are ya really that excited to see me? You wicked little aspiring temptress you. I don't think you should quit your day job, sweetums, if you're trying to outsmart the Joker, here," he spoke haughtily, his tongue darting from between serpentine, fleshy lips like the intermittent strike of a malicious cobra.

He wagged his finger disapprovingly at me, clicking that sporadic tongue of his to match the impertinent gesture.

"Thought you could eh- _stay away_, did ya? Thought ya could escape me once you got a taste of _madness_? Well, there's no turnin' back once you _surr_ender to the Joker. I've got ya, babe; I've got that worthless heart of yours wound around my little finger so tight it's cuttin' off my circulation. It's just a matter of time before I get a vice hold on ya - _com-puh-lete-uhly_."

He was backing me slowly into the door again, the animalistic look in his eyes repelling me away from him, and I felt like I was facing the walking plague, a fabricated incarnate of fatality.

"No…"I murmured, my eyes beginning to widen as that impish glimmer began to strengthen within his abiding stare. "No, I came to tell you that I was leaving. That you were well enough off without me."

He threw back his head and cackled at this, his face contorting into one of upmost delight, but his lips were pulled back in what appeared to be a bloodthirsty snarl.

"Oh, what an amusing toy I've picked off the dreary litter! You're never boring, doc, but I must admit…much too predictable for my delicate taste. Why not be a little spontaneous, kiddo? Release that inner child that's just _dyin ' _to come out and play…"

His tongue flickered out and graced the outline of his permanently engraved smile. "Perhaps I can rearrange a little play date for your inner humm – _ah-doll-escence_ and mine, eh?"

By now, my back had met the hard obstacle of the closed door that separated me from my escape route. He was inching closer now; I could feel his breath whirling around me, hot and overwhelming like the building tension that took over the room. My heart had begun to race, and I could hardly breathe without feeling a heightening pressure inflict itself on my burning lungs.

His breath fanned across the vulnerable flesh of my neck, dipping his head beneath the crook of my jaw and skimming the skin there with his stained, gritted teeth.

Goosebumps exploded over my skin as his bare lips mechanically traced the feminine curvature there, and out of a brief lapse of self-control, my head rolled back and my hands trailed up the sleeves of his purple overcoat, finding the oily strands of hair and knotting my fingers eagerly within the tendrils. I could feel the muscles beneath my fingertips grow taut, even beneath the multiple layers of clothing. He wasn't enjoying this at all; it was all just a part of another game, a sacrifice made to push me over the brink.

But I certainly was enjoying it, as reluctant as I was to admit it.

Without warning, he shoved my back harder against the door, threw my legs around his middle and crushed his mouth against mine, ravishing my mouthlike a rabid dog mauling its helpless victim. His teeth clenched over my bottom lip, and a primal, guttural sound emitted from his throat as I gave out a little cry of pain; blood began to trickle down my face. He paused in his ravaging, his tongue lapping at the stream of blood that had begun to drip down my chin.

He lifted me again, this time hauling me toward his cot, where he slammed me pitilessly into the mattress and crawled immediately over me, assaulting my collarbone as his gloved hands shed the layers from my figure and glided easily beneath the last t-shirt I had on, over my hipbones and following the dip that lead into my waist.

But one hand had pulled away suddenly; I was much too occupied with the fact that his lips were crushing mine once again, their primordial brute force beginning to wear at the frayed edges of discomfort. It was another stolen moment for me, an arduous incident that would remain in my memories for as long as I lived.

I only wished he wouldn't be so brutish, so painful in the way that he kissed me. I tried to pretend that he was caressing me softly with those battered lips of his, that his formidable embrace was not beginning to smother me beneath his suppressive weight and that my lips had not begun to bleed again with those insistent teeth chewing on me like I was a raw piece of meat.

His absent hand returned to my waist, but he was stroking my abdomen with something foreign now. I was much too busy to take into consideration what that foreign object was, trying to focus on maintaining my laborious breath and trying to enact at least a little part in that domineering kiss of his, molding my lips to match the shape of his, though he molested my mouth heedlessly.

By the time I began to realize that the alien object he was stroking my stomach with was in fact that switchblade he devoted most of his emotions to and that the detached form of sex he was trying to force on me was just a distraction, it was too late. A sharp, gut-twisting, agonizing pain shot through me like an unhealthy dose of electricity. I screamed out in pain, a bloodcurdling cry for mercy as he twisted and forced the tip of the knife deeper beneath the primordial base of skin. He seemed to grunt in satisfaction, his body shuddering with pleasure while he soaked in the sound of my torturous pain and the fact that my own body had begun to quiver as the shock of overwhelming pain ripped through me. A cold sweat grazed the pallid skin on my forehead; I could only lay there beneath him as he placed little teasing kisses on my collarbone. He knew that was all I wanted all along, and now that I was immobilized and wounded, he used it as a taunting device to smear my own wishes right back in my face.

He leaned in and positioned his twitching lips beside my ear, his brow furrowing and his eyes rolling upwards in a philosophical gesture. "Now, I'd love to continue this little melodrama here where I feign interest in _fucking_ you like an animal and where you moan till your little _nym-pho-maniac _heart's content, but you're a little…hummm - _in-capac-itated_ at the moment, and I've ah, got some _bigger_ fish to fry."

He took another moment to tantalize me with hollow promises, sliding his lips deftly across my jaw, pressing his lips to mine softly, working against the tender flesh in the same manner that he had caressed his beloved knife, gently and tenderly, filling my head with his heady scent and slipping my bloody, bottom lip between his. But even in my delirium, I could feel it, I relished the taste, though it was riddled with my own blood…and I knew it was all a cruel joke. He pulled away, looking mildly satisfied with his work. He then licked at his chops, savoring the flavor of my vitality on his tongue.

It was his own form of sexual gratification; blood, pain and emotional torture were his aphrodisiacs.

" Don't you worry, my little _China_ doll, I'll be back to claim my favorite plaything, 'cause I've learned a lesson never to let a perfectly good method of amusement go to waste. But ya know, darling, it's been far too long since I blew up something up and watched it burn, so I'm getting antsy somethin' fierce here…." He licked his lips, and the smacking sound of spit on skin was loud against my ear. "Chaos is like heroin, doc. Once ya get a _pre-fera-ence_ for the stuff, ya never can let go of it, can ya?"

He leered at this comment, oblivious at first to the fact that my eyes were growing heavily lidded. But he caught on soon enough, and struck me fiercely with the back of his hand.

"Ah ah, kiddo. Ya gotta pay attention, because you should know by now that the Joker is an infamous – uh, _attention_ whore. Just like you, toots…you're just too starved for affection, aren't ya? Well, I gave it to ya, and now here you are ah -_falling_ asleep on me! You _ungrrr_ateful little thing…and to think I was about to give you what you wanted. No more Mr. Nice guy, missy...you're dealing with a very eh –peeved Joker now. And he wants you to listen, so keep those _fucking _pretty peepers of yours open or I'll pry your _eyeballs _out with my little humm – my little _friend_ here."

He kept on tracing the shadowed curve beneath my eyes and I tried to remain perfectly still despite the fact that I was losing blood and growing faint with each passing moment. If only I could stay awake long enough to hear his monologue, I'd be fine…Agnes would undoubtedly notice I was gone past my time limit and come find me. Just a _little_ longer, only a little bit longer…

"Eh, listen babe. I know you're all _attach-ed_ to me, but here's the lowdown. I'm not a touchy _feely_ sort of chap. I'd rather have a whole slew of _bac-teer-ee-ah_ ridden leeches latched onto me than have the likes of you pryin' all over my _bachelor_ persona? Especially in this flashy garb."

He giggled furiously and yanked at the collar of his ostentatious violet suit, that nervous tongue darting from between unadorned lips.

"Anyway, I digress, _muh _dear. The point is, I can't exactly have your justice-lovin' ass turnin' me in for my greater good, to save me from myself and all that jazz. But ya know, I like bein' the village prick, I like disorder and death and knives, blood, murder…all that lovely, beautiful stuff. And, ya see _dahll_, you turnin' me over to that humdrum _Co-missioner_ will just wind up me _festerin'_at Arkham for the rest of my _nat-ur-ahll_ life, and then how will I torture you and ol' Bat_balls_, _humm_? And it _is_rather hard to order around pissant goons when you're stuck in a madhouse, not to mention dyin' a slow and painful death of boredom and shitty food. So, _dah-lin'_, I bid you ado…for now, of course. A kiss?! Why, you self-_right-eeous_ vixen, how dare you ask me for such a petty thing! Especially when you're on the verge of passin' out, kiddo! But alright, toots, you _humm_ – you _convinced _me. Pucker up, dollface."

He pecked me fleetingly on the lips for the last time, and I heard his shrill cackle penetrate the room in its maddening hysteria. He kicked the door open, and as the last of my consciousness faltered, all I could hear was the sound of a faded gunshot.

Then, I collapsed into oblivion, consumed in a world of shock-induced comatose.

I couldn't tell how long I had been asleep, only that it was a troubled dream world that I was submerged within and couldn't escape. The sight of his face, unaltered and unchanged by the presence of his painted façade, had filled my head, his leer no longer alleviated by the pretense he put forth for the world to see. It had been pure and unadulterated malevolent intention in those eyes, hidden in the unsettling curl of his mouth. Sometimes, my head had rung dully with the sound of that instinctive, yet inhuman moan of pleasure he'd derived from my enormous pain.

When I awoke, I found the very familiar setting of a utilized hospital room, and I was lying on a cot, feeling numb and slightly dazed as the world sort of spun around me in whirls and sudden halting stops. There was no one in the room, just the shadows that encroached the comforting aura of the well known surroundings, with the light turned off and everything doused in murky darkness.

"How are you feeling?"

There came an aggressive, grating voice from the darkened corner, and I tried to focus my eyes on a black figure as he emerged from silence, never loosening from his austere posture.

"Uh, drugged?" I slurred, narrowing my eyes as I tried to pinpoint his position. Everything was still kind of swaying, and my vision was uneven. I couldn't help but noticed that I sounded like a drunkard with too many tequila shots in his system.

He didn't even crack a smile at my poor attempts for humor. "You're lucky he'd pierced you in that spot…there were no punctured organs; they only had to stitch you up to stop you from bleeding to death."

"Who uh…" I raised the hand that didn't have an I.V. shoved into it and tried to stop the dizzy feeling that had begun to inhabit my haggard brain. "Who found me?"

"I did." His severity did not soften in the least bit, and I found myself thinking he'd done it out of obligation, as opposed to want.

"I, I uh – thank you, I guess?"

"Don't mention it." He waved it off nonchalantly, though he did not move an inch from his rigid stance.

"Where's the Joker? Is he gone?"

Though clear and sensible thoughts were incapable of filling my head at the moment, I could at least isolate one thought not saturated in pain medication. My heart pounded in my chest…from fear _of_ him, but also fear _for_ him. Apparently being knifed by the manipulative animal wasn't enough to deter my feelings for him…it was not the madman I was in love with, it was his fabricated image that no longer existed.

"The Joker has escaped. His whereabouts are unknown, but Gordon is on the chase as we speak. I told you that there would come a time when you would be unneeded in the scheme of things…"

"You said that I would be unneeded by you and Commissioner Gordon…" I argued plaintively.

"I never said who you would be useless to, Miss Grant. You just assumed I was talking about myself and Gordon."

There I went again…cutting the Joker out of all aspect of possibility. In my head, he was still incapacitated, but in reality, he was out there wreaking havoc on Gotham once again, back on his burning playground.

"Try not to trouble yourself with much thought. We'll have the Joker behind bars in no time…"

My heart wrenched a little in my chest at the thought.

"Don't hurt him…" I reminded the dark, masked figure. He looked mildly perplexed by my speculation, that I would even entertain thoughts of not hurting the Joker after all that he'd done to me.

"I really don't want to have to take care of him again, you know?" I cleared my throat nervously, and suddenly felt lightheaded from all the conversation.

"Go to sleep, Miss Grant," his rough, scratchy voice seemed to deepen even further. "You need your rest if you want to recuperate quickly."

I was about to answer when the door to my room opened and one of the nurses walked in with a clipboard and a blood pressure cuff hanging flaccidly in her hands as she stared almost blankly at the record sheet.

And in the split second I had turned my head in reaction to the protesting groan of the old door, he had gone. The only suggestions that he had left behind as he escaped from the room was that the window was left wide open, with the bitterly cold night air rushing through the billowing wool curtains, making them swirl and dance within its rhythmic flow as the city lights and sounds filled the empty air with golden music.

The girl, however, reacted quite differently toward the open window.

"What the hell?" Her tinkling, melodious voice suddenly snapped angrily at the inconvenience, and she flounced toward the twisted curtains to pull the glass shut. "I never opened this damn thing…"

She closed it firmly, then returned to me without another word, performing her duties silently. The blood pressure cuff began to ensnare the weakened muscle of my arm, but my attention was not on the nurse, not on the hospital…

Even through the drug induced stupor, I could still wonder about him; all I knew was that he was out there, somewhere in the midst of flashing lights and blaring nocturnal traffic.

And he probably wasn't sparing even a thought for me.


	14. Death Wish

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you to all my anonymous reviewers and signed reviewers!  
You're all awesome. :D**

**Sorry if this seems disappointing at all, in any way...I didn't feel like writing today, but I did anyway because I promised I'd get back into my 'two updates a day' routine.  
Hopefully later tonight I'll do better. :D**

**Kat, you rock my socks, as your usual. ;)**

**This is the last chapter with a hospital setting.**

**Here's the disclaimer shindig. **

**The Joker and Commissioner Gordon belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**PEE.ESS:**

**go and vote on my poll...it's on my profile. :D**

* * *

The hospital was in another whirlwind of panic.

Breaking news repeated the threat over and over again, and I could only just sit there, watching as they reeled the voice over incessantly after every commercial break, after every update on the Joker's new systematic delivery of havoc. After he'd escaped, the reign of chaos had returned to enclose its death grip over Gotham once more. People were dying; everyone not being blown up or had suddenly disappeared without a trace was on the brink of losing their minds, and Arkham was itching for a cause to start their trucks and start picking up loons left and right.

It had been a fairly calm morning, even with Gordon hounding me for a decent interrogation. He was convinced that I had assisted him in his escape schemes, that I'd meant to get assaulted by him and have that knife driven through my side. Gordon was incorrigible, which was probably why they promoted him to Commissioner in the first place. But that didn't help me while I was extremely tired from a long, restless night.

My stitches were gone, but I couldn't seem to absorb the fact that the only reminder left of my laceration was a puffy, pearly scar. All night long, I stared at it, running my fingertips along the smooth edges. He'd left his mark on me now, and it would never fully go away…it was almost as if he were trying to tell me that he, too, would never leave. He would be there, breathing down my neck like a formidable ghost until the day I died.

It was a startling revelation, figuring out that this scar meant more than just the intentional slip of a knife; it was more than just his desperate means for escape. It was the same technique used to brand a name on a cow, signifying that the cattle belonged to a specific ranch or owner. I was his cattle, and he intended to use his raw meat to his advantage.

It was only a question of when.

I received my answer this morning, after recurring failed endeavors to catch a few winks of rest. But the nurse that had been taking care of me came in and interrupted my solitude. She was short-tempered and more belligerent than usual, cursing beneath her breath as she searched for the remote she'd stashed somewhere in the room, and finally found it in one of the medical cabinets and in the last drawer next to my bed.

"You'd better watch this, Grant. Your fucking _boyfriend_ is at it again."

This particular girl, Sabrina, had ceased to like me after my works with the Joker, and so I considered myself immensely lucky that she'd not thought of _accidentally_ poisoning me in my sleep. I knew she'd never kill me, though, even if she did entertain the thought of watching me heave into a bucket with pleasure. But she was not a ruthless killer, like the Joker…she had a conscience that could not bear the weight of having been responsible for the death of a human being.

That was the difference between the citizens of Gotham and the Joker. They had a conscience, they had sentiment and weaknesses. The Joker had none of those things, and therefore made invincible in light of his seemingly perfection.

It was rather late, and the last faltering nuances of morning had begun to recede into the coming of noon when the broadcast suddenly appeared on the screen out of nowhere, blocking Mike Engel's prim and pressed appearance from view. The slithering voice of a hellion emitted from the television set, and for a moment, I imagined myself listening to the voice of the Devil himself, conjuring his vocal chords from the depths of Hell, fabricating into the image of a shamefully painted mask and a pair of maniacally glittering black eyes.

There was nothing but fire in those eyes…no emotion, no condescending emotion. Just the raging ripples of an inferno locked away so that someday, he would unleash that rampant blaze and watch the world burn as he walked amongst the ashes in all his glorifying finesse.

"Good _morning_, Goth-_am_! Lovely day for a game, don't ya think? I thought so too, so I've devised a little round of hide-and-go- seek here. See, there's this bozo runnin' around with the knowledge of Batman's true identity. Now, I can't have my plaything exposed like that by a little squealer, so I'll make you all a deal. Kill this Coleman Reese fella and I'll reward you. But if ya don't blow this little shithead's brains out by 12 o' clock sharp, I'll punish ya - I'll be blowin' up a hospital. The stakes are high, Gotham! What'll it be? One _sn_iveling corporate brat? Or the little sicklings and an entire medical facility blown to tiny pieces? Now, now...it won't be _easy_, but that's what makes it _so_ fun! So raise the standards for your city, Gotham – make the right choice or I'll make it for ya. _Joker_ is down and out!"

A snippet of his menacing and trilling cackle burst through the speakers and induced tremors to plummet down my aching spine. The tape stopped abruptly, and the screen switched back to Mike Engel, whose face had grown extremely gaunt as he shouted at the cameramen to call the police.

My ears pounded, my lungs burned with rising fear. I could hardly discern reality from the dreamlike stupor that had settled over me, even as Sabrina broke into another cussing fit.

The television screen went completely blank, after Engel began to bellow profusely at the stage crew for a phone. The camera had been turned off, and now all I could see was the fuzzy white and black monitor as the network was shut off, and the world immersed into another crushing force of approaching chaos.

"Holy God…we don't even know which hospital he's gonna blow up!" Sabrina wailed, clutching mounds of her hair and yanking on them in her distress. She paced the room as I sat there, stone cold and frozen with panic. "And knowing that lowlife Commissioner Gordon, he's not going to let anyone shoot that son of a bitch Reese! We've gotta get out of here…we gotta get out of here," she nodded her head resolutely at her own realization, then turned back to me, completely ignoring the fact that I was barely listening.

"You stay here! I've gotta alert Agnes about this…damn, she probably already knows…"

She bit her lip for a moment, trying to contemplate what she should do. But she didn't say another word, and she fled the room and back toward the front of the building, where the front desk was located, before I could really understand what was going on.

By now, it was eleven thirty, and the hospital was in a frenzy of orderly panic. Cots were being wheeled out of the building into school busses after the Commissioner had gotten a hold of Agnes and gave her strict direction as to how to evacuate the vicinity.

I felt completely useless, just lying there in that grubby old bed, when I was so used to being a part of the usual staff. If the attack had been announced only two weeks before, I would have been helping them, I could have felt like I was striving to find hope amongst the decimation that was to come. Of course I knew he'd blow up Gotham General…he'd not had fond memories here.

And besides…he threatened that he'd be back for me. The thought was unsettling within its own connotation of the phrase, the way he'd hissed the words from his serpentine lips, that permanently etched grin contradicting the heavy weight of his pressing terms.

It was only a matter of time before he showed up in that doorway, his demonic leer twitching and glistening beneath a thin film of saliva from the perpetual licking of his chops. As much as I wanted to admit it, there would be a part of me, the nonsensical half, that would be positively effervescent with a pulsating thrill when I saw his thin, sinewy form appear right before my eyes beneath the door frame.

Sabrina never came back for me.

It was eleven forty-five and not one soul had ventured into this part of the hospital to come and rescue the last two occupants from a fiery, agonizing fate. One had already suffered enough with fire, the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, who had been severely burnt on the left side of his body. I'd not heard exactly what had been lost in the fire when it came to his features and physical appearance…but I did know that he had lost Rachel Dawes, the Assistant District Attorney, and that the fact she was gone had consumed him with bitter rage.

Being in the room directly across from him, I had heard his heart wrenching outbursts of insufferable fury as he struck out at anything human which crossed his path. Gordon had even been scathed by the cynical ashes of Harvey's loss, and had learned first hand that Gotham's savior was slowly losing sanity with each day that passed.

No man deserved what Harvey Dent had been dealt by the hands of destiny…especially one as heroic and selfless as the White Knight of Gotham.

I had been gazing into the corner of the room, where a spider had woven his silken, silvery web in the neglected shadows of a dusty cranny. My thoughts veered off on expeditions while throbbing waves of terror pounded through my body and made my muscles weak with fear.

The building was going to explode any moment now; I knew the Joker always kept promises when it came to detonating buildings and bringing an entire civilization to its knees in surrender. I tried to assure myself it was better this way.

Harvey would see Rachel again, and no longer be in such crippling physical, and emotional, anguish. I would be released from that looming promise the Joker had made, that he would never liberate me from the shackles he had me locked within. This way, I was offered an ironic method of escape –dying unintentionally in the very hands of my own captor.

A sudden flash of white caught my attention as it furtively ghosted past the door in the hallway. I'd only caught a glimpse of the sporadic sighting, but it was enough to keep my attention there for a long moment, hopeful at first, but deciding after a minute or so that it was my delusional mind playing tricks on me.

No one was coming back for us.

The sound of a gunshot made me jump from my solemn musings and I peered into the seemingly empty hallway. Had my mind truly fabricated such an amazing feat as to comfort me in my last few moments of life? Or was there truly the sound of voices emitting from Harvey Dent's room?

And in my hallucinations, of course it would only be ironic enough that the last voice my panicked brain wanted to hear was the sound of _his_ voice seeping from Harvey's room.

But then Harvey answered, the incensed tone of his voice and a few suggestions of struggle wafted from the room and filled my ears as I sat there, trying to discern if it was reality I was hearing, or some surreal form of imagination run buck wild as the clock struck eleven fifty five.

My mind was playing tricks on me, like a charlatan, trying to wrap me in his magic swindles so that I wouldn't feel as much at a loss as I would have with the last five minutes of my life sounding completely hollow.

My prayers for relief from this mirage were answered when a very familiar figure emerged from Harvey's room, his childish swagger the very first attribute I noticed, despite the fact that he looked completely ludicrous in that nurse's outfit. He seemed just as unpleasantly surprised as I was, and while I tried to sink beneath the covers and hope to God he hadn't seen my face, I heard the abrasive squeak of his shabby, faded brown shoes as they halted in sudden realization.

I turned over on my side, murmuring a prayer beneath my breath as the pads of his soles thudded dully against the glossy floors.

He was in the doorway.

"Well, well…there ya go again, doc, hiding from your feelings like ya always do. Ya know, it's not very wise to be _en_-acting puns when your ah- your precious _life_ is on the line here." He giggled furiously, and I heard his feet shuffle as he bounced up and down playfully, tickled by his amusement.

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my heart swell and warm with unwelcomed fondness. Just knowing he was there, in his outlandish argyle socks and those wiry legs poking out from beneath a white nurse's uniform. The fact that he was inching closer toward my bed, his hands tapping monotonously upon his thighs and his throat vibrating with the sound of his mysterious humming, made my skin crawl – half with delight, and the other with prudent fear.

Spider-like fingers which crept from supple hands reached suddenly and grasped the collar of my hospital gown. A gurgling sound escaped my throat, and I turned my head away from him, squeezing my eyes shut; his grip tightened over my collar, and the texture of his flesh drew stiff and tight with the pressure.

"Listen here, doc-" He began, then reached with a domineering hand and wrenched my chin forward to face him.

"You're not lookin' at me…there we are! There's that little face I've been lookin' forward to seeing. As I was saying, we don't have much time before this place goes kaboom, ya know what I'm sayin'? So, you have a choice, _baby doll_ – come with me knowing someday, I'm gonna kill ya when ya cease to _ah-muse_ me. Or die right here, right now. Oh, and when you give up the eh, the _ghost_, you'd better have a nice explanation for your precious _God_ up there as to why you nursed a psychotic criminal back to health. Are ya gonna tell him you fell in love with me? Yes, yes…I'm sure he'll understand, that'll go extremely well because even _smart_ girls like you fall under my charming little spell, don't ya? I think, if I were you, I'd choose the easier route of the two evils, _kiddo_. But _that's_ just ah- that's just me…I _am_ a man with good taste!" His eyes glittered and a snarl yanked back the painted lips into a curling, bloodthirsty grin, a hysterical giggle spilling from the back of his throat. "Take…your…_pick_."

His scars twitched again, and his tongue sprang forth from the depths of his wide, trench-like mouth, sliding easily over his lips fleetingly before disappearing back behind his exposed, stained teeth.

"I-" I swallowed hard at the growing lump in my throat, distracted by the bloodlust I found hidden in his eyes. What could I do? I'd die either way, if it were now or later that I chose to face it.

"Tick tock, doll face….the clock is ticking, and my _hand_ here is getting' mighty anxious." He reached into the pocket of his nurse's uniform and pulled out a poorly constructed detonator, a big red button in the middle that would ignite the blast that would destroy everything I'd known for the last year of my life, everything I'd pursued and hoped for.

It would all be gone in a matter of minutes.

"I'll go with you," I sighed, closing my eyes to release a white hot tear dangling from my sodden lashes.

"Excellent choice, kiddo, if I do say so _muh-self. _Let's get the fuck outta here and watch the place burn to the ground, huh?! Oh goody, I can't _wait_. Do ya like fireworks, _doc_?"

He let go of my collar, but as I tried to slide from my cot on wavering, uncertain legs, he growled with impatience and picked me up by my torso, slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I went limp as a ragdoll and simply rested my head against his shoulder blade, watching the floor glide easily by beneath his strangely prancing gait.It was making me dizzy, the way he walked, but as a deafening explosion began to claim the wing of the hospital we'd only just been in, I forgot all about my dizziness and held on for dear life.

"Boom!" His hysterical laughter heightened and became excruciatingly frightening as his gait became even more choppy and frenetic as his excitement swelled, trotting towards the front doors as the building behind us exploded into shreds of rubble and fire. "Kaboom!"

He skipped off the curb, and the jarring motion sent my weary head rolling back and forth over his angular shoulder blade. But as the blasts began to settle, and a spell of white noise settled over the perimeter, the Joker stopped in his tracks and turned around to face the failure.

I merely hung there, too frightened to try and escape – he'd only find me later, and I knew it.

His hands flew up in a manner of exasperation. But he wasn't one to give up when it came to destruction, and he fiddled with the detonator in his dirty hand until another blast emanated from the structure and he hurried off before any flying debris could strike him where he stood.

"Hear that doc? That's the sound of Gotham's last nerve going _berserk_, before they all go completely bonkers! HA! Ya see, with all this chaos…no one but the loons prefer disorder. Well, that's all fine and dandy…cause the whole city's gonna be headin' straight for Arkham soon enough!"

He cackled and hopped into the back of the last empty bus, going completely unnoticed as the rest of the hospital quivered with fear and watched the building crumble beneath plumes of vivid flames.

"This is where I turn Gotham's ah - _weakness_ against them. Their own ignorance lead to their undoin', ya know! If they just woulda listened to me and killed off that little weasel like I told them to! This never would have happened if they'd just did as they were told. I don't like bein' ignored, and I'm sure ya know that, sweets. I don't like not bein' _listened_ to."

He growled irreverently, smacking his lips with displeasure.

"…. Now if only the _Batman_ were here; wouldn't that just make this little party _fantastical_? A little dynamite, some shrieking children, a little dose of fear and a whole lotta muscular black spandex!"

With a snap of his hands, the back of the bus was sealed closed, and he set me down on the floor as he rifled through his other, shapeless pocket, looking for something as I stood there, trying not to fall flat on my face with my legs trembling ferociously beneath me.

Then, he found what he was looking for.

"C'mere, _doll_. Ya look all _tuckered_ out; ya need your rest if you're bravin' the ah - _unknown_ with the likes of me."

He abruptly snatched my cheeks into his naked hands, smashing a cloth against my face before I could even muster up the strength to resist, positioning the material over my nose and mouth. A haze drifted over my eyes, and he threw my flaccid form carelessly into the seat across from his own.

He was humming exuberantly again, and drumming his fingers on the back of the bench-like accommodations in front of him, where he'd flopped down into a moment before.

The driver sped off, and I as I lay there in that leathery old seat, my face implanted into the greasy material, I submerged beneath a deep, drug induced sleep.


	15. A Demon's Leer

**Author's Note: **

**Thank you reviewers! You're all awesome. :D**

**THANK YOU TO PEN AGAINST SWORD!  
Thanks for reminding me about the after effects of chloroform. It was a tremendous help! :D**

**I have a bone to pick with one of you, however...about Chelsea and being a 'weak and less entertaing version of Harley Quinn'.  
Well, in response to your allegation, I have a retort.**

**Chelsea and Harley Quinn are completely different.  
Harley Quinn was insane, clingy, had no personality of her own and just  
derived her irritating persona from her Puddin', Mistah J. And Harley was a  
murderer...Chelsea would never murder anyone, even for the Joker. She'd never  
do it. Chelsea is her own person, she doesn't need anyone to breathe  
personality into her. She's not insane, and she has a sense of justice and  
compassion.**

**Now don't get me wrong, I love Harley...but she's a little grating.  
And not like Chelsea at all.**

**The two are completely different, like I've said before.  
So I was a little confused as to how Chelsea was AT ALL like Harley Quinn.**

**Anyway, thanks Kat for the inspiration! :D  
I'll be sending you my reply to your latest PM very shortly. ;)**

**And now for the disclaimer.**

**Harvey Dent, The Joker and Batman belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me. **

**Enjoy!****  
And don't forget to vote on the poll. It's on my profile, if you want to check it out. :D**

* * *

The world was foggy when I woke, draped in the delicate lacings of my unnatural somnolence.

It was like waking from a pleasant dream, and that same pungent sweetness that I have clear memory of smelling before I passed out still burns through my nasal passage. My stomach is swimming sickeningly, and my head feels light, almost intangible, like it's not really there, but only an illusion.

As the feeling begins to return to my body, I realize that I've been manacled by thin, yet apparently sturdy vines of violet cords. They gnaw into the skin and leave angry scarlet marks where they ferociously tear into flesh upon the first sign of struggle. It was almost as if I was being restrained by a boa constrictor.

The first thing I do after I'm fully aware of my surroundings and the condition of my body is heave. It was a very sudden notion; out of the blue, my stomach starts to churn even faster and searing bile travels up my esophagus. It took a great effort, with my head whirling and feeling as vague as it was ,for me to pivot my neck so I wouldn't vomit all over my lap.

I end up almost falling over an edge, and while I my mouth is otherwise engaged in unwilling activity, I can't scream for help.

Luckily, someone already had the idea that I was going to fall, and had grabbed onto the cords that rendered my hands and feet useless and wrapped around me tightly to pull me back before I teetered completely off the edge.

"Now, now, doc, this is no time to be flirting with death. You'll be answerin' to me soon enough, and trust me, toots….I'm much worse than the _Reaperrr_."

He throws me off to the side like some useless, limp bag and I roll a few feet before I come in contact with hard wall. My nausea is still overwhelming, and the dizzy sensation makes my stomach yank horribly again, and this time I end up vomiting all over my unrestrained hair.

"Ah, how _dee-lightfully_ the tables have turned….now, it is you in captivity! How does it feel, _sweets_, to be tied up, to be restrained from your free will? I found it was only fair, seeing as you are so very fond of fairness and justice for _all_, that I let you know what it feels like to be a bird in a cage. In your case, it would be much more like a…hum…dove than my raven-like stature, if we're ah speakin' _met-ah-phorr-ically_ here. All pretty and delicate, but quite average compared to the darkness, the bearer of ill omens like the raven. Nonetheless, my little _pet_, you're _mine_ now…I'm God to you. I hold your _soul_ in my hands, and if I feel like crushing it to _oblivion_ - so be it. If I say you die…._you die_. If I say you live…_you live_. If I tell you to do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around, then you'll do it without _question_!"

By now, he was shouting in my face, his figure trembling violently with rage as he held back the near crippling desire to crush my windpipe with one swift squeeze of his hand. But he restrained himself, and contented himself with merely rattling me until the nausea came back again in a fierce resolution.

He knew I was still of use to him, that he couldn't mutilate me just yet, not until the Batman had come. So he let go of me and he turned away, muttering to himself, hopping slightly as he walked across the rooftop.

I was throwing up again by the time the fearsome aura of his presence had fully dissipated from my shuddering nerves.

I hear the Joker make a sound of disgust, but it followed with a feral cackle, and I assumed he was making fun of me as I suffered the cruel effects of the chloroform drug; I recognized it immediately as the anesthetic notoriously used in kidnappings.

Even I was repulsed by the fact that I'm now covered in my own vomit, and for a few minutes, I just lay there, my lips quivering as I try not to cry right in front of him. He's there, standing over me like a sentinel guarding his territory; I can hear him breathing, and his feet shuffle irritably, as if he's trying to capture my attention.

Thankfully, he moved away, the soles of his bizarre, little brown shoes tapping lightly against the concrete flooring of the roof in his usual blithe, weightless strut.

And suddenly, I'm completely sopping wet. Somehow I managed not to notice the returning pitter-patter of his feet, but there he is when I roll over, trying to see through malodorous, and now sodden tendrils of brown hair. He was standing quite haughtily over me, an empty bucket of water in his arms as he leers at me. Not even the light of the stark white moon above could illuminate the darkness of his wild eyes.

"Ugh, my dear. Ya still reek like death…how ironic! We're just drippin' with irony tonight, aren't we?"

I didn't reply to his sardonic witticisms, and stared at his argyle socks, trying to compel him away from me with the sour smell of my insides as they had traveled up my throat, thanks to that awfully sweet-smelling drug of his. I prayed he would leave me to rot, to wallow in my miserable stench.

But he wouldn't have it. It seemed he was hell bent on persecuting me.

"Are ya through, kiddo? Or should I go and get you a barf bag so you'll quit littering the walkway with your _filth_…we don't want the Batman to be soiling his nice little black boots in puke, now do we? No, no…that would be quite rude, and then where would he be? Without boots, of course! We can't have a bare-footed Batman prancing around the city…he's bound to step on something sharp, sooner or later, and then I won't have a toy to play with! All I'd have is _you_, and _muh_ dear, ya don't want me to be stuck with one toy…I get bored real fast, and take my _word_ for it - ya won't like me when I'm _bored_."

I couldn't argue with his statement…in fact, I feared the animosity hidden in the deeper meaning of his declaration. Most of what he spoke of lately was about my ominous death in the near future, when he was bored of me, when I ceased to amuse him.

That would be the day I ceased to exist as well. He held my life in the palm of his hand and took the liberty of giving it a hostile squeeze whenever I didn't obey his wishes or commands…but I was just an inanimate object to him, nothing worthy of time and patience. I was merely something to be tossed around and cackled at when I collapsed to my knees or a means of sexual gratification when he plunged that switchblade through me and savored the sound of my anguished cries for mercy.

I was the plaything of a veritable monster.

There was nothing I needed less than to be trapped in one of his mind games once again, to be cornered by all sides of his undomesticated spectrum. He'd succeeded in completely proclaiming dominance over the three aspects of me that made me human; physically, emotionally and mentally, he had all of me in a vice grip, and he wasn't letting go.

There was only one way of escape, which was death. I was a firm believer in the jurisdiction of God, and as suicide was against his will, and that would mean the only way I would be released from the Joker's influence was by his hand.

I didn't know whether to be afraid or eager for when that day came, the one where his fascination diminished into oblivion.

He stalked off for a moment, disappearing behind the blockade figure of the door as he rummaged through something, apparently finding what he was looking for after making quite a ruckus and throwing things about in his usual infantile manner.

He reappeared from behind the obstacle, carrying something that looked to be a mask in his plum-colored gloves. In a halting, awkward movement, he sunk to his knees and yanked my chin upwards so that he could fit a clown mask over my face, hiding my countenance from the world. He gave no explanation, only fitted it so that it was positioned correctly on my face.

"What is this for?" I asked, my voice muffled behind the cheap, redolent plastic.

"Ah, ah…what did I say about questionin' my motives, dahll face?"

I could see through the peepholes cut out as eyes for the mask as he jabbed his finger at me accusingly, then brought his index finger abruptly to his lips and gestured for me to be silent.

He meandered off again; he was completely and thoroughly bored, a dangerous condition for the always moving, always jittery and twitching Joker. He was used to having always been in motion, having something to detonate or decimate with his hands at any given moment that he wished. Now that he was idle, his clever mind was running through ideas as to how to pass the time…and knowing him, they were not pleasant ideas.

I only hoped Batman would come soon…if he went on being bored like this any longer, he might take to kicking me around the rooftop like a soccer ball.

Instead, he began to hum again as he rifled through the deep pockets of his violet overcoat, a habitual routine I'd recognized as a deterrence for boredom. It was the same tune, always the very same I'd heard that first day he'd escaped his room, when Gordon had come with the handcuffs that had proved to be ineffective in the long run.

It was almost lively and merry, but emanating from his scarlet-stained lips, its natural chipper tune was degraded to an eerie, formidable song one would find in a horror movie, just before the apocalypse of the macabre murder scene.

His hands withdrew from those silken lined pockets and within his fingertips, that switchblade he favored produced from the leathery material of his dark purple gloves. A resonating flick reached my ears as the blade slipped from its sheath and flipped outwards, gleaming beneath the light of the insipid, yet uncannily bright moon. He was growing impatient.

The Joker waited for no one, not even his own conscience.

"Where's the _Bat_…oh, where is that naughty little _Batman_? He's late for his lesson again…I think the teacher will have to show ol' Batsy the error of his ways. Why, one never learns if he is always_ humm dee hum_ - tardy, and, oh yes, even the great and terrible _Bat_ has things that he must learn if he should succeed in this brave new reign of _chaos_."

He was talking to himself, and I just lay there, feigning unconsciousness in the shadows while he supplied a method of entertainment, waiting for the advent his arch nemesis. Clearly, just by observation, Batman was always considered worthy of his time…he was the only commendable opponent that the Joker could think of in this pathetic world, from what I had gathered of his musings.

He had spoken of Batman often when he had still been in the hospital, at the end of that abandoned hall, in that grungy little room where he'd once threatened to make a bomb out of dust bunnies in an attempt to hint softly at his boredom. Batman was his favorite subject, his favorite experiment and instrument wielded to fit the whims of hi wanton entertainment. Batman was less susceptible to frailty than I was, and much more formidable in aura. It was not a wonder why he was so much more amusing sometimes than me.

To him, Batman was an equal, like Themis in her ceaseless endeavors to stop Ares in his plans for destruction and his constant lust for war. He thought of the Batman as a similar creature, built in the same structure and invincibility as he was…but the Joker knew there was a weakness, just like the rest of the human race. He wanted to break it, to shatter it to pieces and watch as the great knight crumbled at his feet and unleashed the reckless alter ego of him.

The Joker was dying to get a strangle hold upon that opposite man, to outstretch those spider-like bones, wrapped in olive-skinned splendor, and latch onto Batman's morality like a leech, so that he could suck the life from it and leave it hollow and wasted.

If Batman were gone, where would our hopes lie? Our White Knight had been snuffed out like a candlelight, and now he was only another notch in the bedpost of society's depraved, cynical minds…we needed someone who would not be so easily turned to darkness, someone who was already a part of the shadows so that he may rise up and take the light without fear of being extinguished.

Batman was that Dark Knight, the only man that could stop the Joker in his tracks…we needed him now, no matter how much we strove to prove that we didn't. Harvey Dent was a distant, amiable memory…Batman was the symbol of cold uncertainty for the future. And like any normal mortal being, we feared the future.

My mind raced with ceaseless thought, so that I had not taken notice of the elapsed humming and the footfalls that had come after when the Joker pursued me as a diversion from his tedium. He ripped me from the ground by my scalp, and the burning sensation that ripped through my skin caused me to cry out in sudden pain, more at the shock of such a discomfort than the actual intensity of it.

"Well, where _is_ he, _dah_-lin? You're his keeper, aren't ya? Ya know where he is, I _know_ ya do. He's with that pathetic _Co-missioner_, ain't he? He's a very rude Bat, making me wait around here with only a _quee-say _toy to play with and a whole lot of time I could be using to _detonate_ another building or… or carve up something _purdy_ in the alleyway! This is precious time, _muh_ dear, and every minute he doesn't show up is every minute counted against you…now, now I know it isn't really your fault, it's that damn _Commissioner_! But ya see, you're in cahoots with the _fuzz_, I know ya are…so you're gonna have to play _scapegoat_, and I inherit the pleasure of beating ya senseless for the Bat's tardiness. How's that for _justice_, doc?"

He spat the last word out as if it were a wad of scum on his restless tongue. It flitted outwards again, breaching the corners of his ragged lips to slither over the entirety of his mouth. It then retreated back into its slippery lair, where it proceeded to trace the inner outline of those abhorrent remnants of a once gruesome wound.

Somehow, as I stared into his simpering countenance, I found the gall within me to blame the scars for his madness, to condemn whoever it was that inflicted those faded, raised gashes upon his cheeks for this monster that stood before me, clutching me by my hair.

But there in the practical section of my mind, where irrational love had not devoured my good sense and ability to reason properly, was an insight on the birth of this legendary anarchist. I think he did it to himself, that he was always like this…there had always been a part of him, even if in earlier youth it had been only tendency instead of a lifestyle, that always devoted his thoughts toward lunacy.

"Lay another hand on that hostage, Joker, and you'll have to answer to me…"

There he was. I recognized that rugged voice as it rumbled deep from within his throat. The Joker, suddenly losing interest in beating the life out of me, shoved me from his grasp. I fell to the hard flooring with a huff, the air rushing from my longs in one sweeping motion.

But Batman didn't recognize me, not with this silly mask on.

Batman jaunted easily toward me in one fluid movement and kneeled at my side, taking a bat shaped razor from his utility belt and swiping it through the cords. They didn't break so easily, but after an attempt or two, I was free, and I stood behind Batman, unsure of the Joker's plans for me; I didn't want to dance with the Devil, not when his gait was too quick for me to remain in pace.

"Well, well, well…look who it is, _doc_! It's the mighty _Batman_ in all his grizzly grandeur!" He giggled reproachfully, slapping his hands together and rubbing them, chafing leather against cheap, purple leather.

The Joker tapped the upside down watch that cuffed his wrist, shaking his head from side to side in disapproval. "You're a very late bat…you waste my precious time."

"Don't stall, Joker. If you wanted me, here I am…leave the girl alone."

"Oh, but I am, surely ya know that I have no business with _dahll_ face at the _mo-ment. _It's all about you Batsy…it's all…about…_you_."

I watched Batman's countenance remain completely stolid, but his jaw clenched to even the slightest degree, and there was an element of rancor apparent in his shadowed eyes. Every muscle in his body was poised to spring at any moment, when faced with such a scheming contender. I stood close behind, watching the scene unfurl before my eyes, like some confrontation of the immortal gods before the unworthy eyes of a mere mortal. I almost felt obliged to shield my gaze from their fray…it might turn bad for both sides in any given moment, and I couldn't bear to watch if Batman accidently shoved the Joker off the edge of the building.

It was hard to admit, but evident in all ways imaginable; the Joker was all I had left in this world, though it was a haphazard and dangerous influence to have my entire world revolving around like he was the binding epicenter of a burning sun. But just like the sun, at any given moment he could explode from ill temper and take out his foreboding tantrums on me.

For loving the side of him that did not exist, it was the sacrifice I had to make…I was foolish enough to have fallen in love with him, and now I had to pay the price. Only God could protect me now…not even the Batman or Gordon could untangle me from this snarling, distorted web I've woven for myself.

I was torn…if the Joker needed me, should I come to his aid? But what of Batman...what if he needed my help as well?

I couldn't decide between them...my heart or my sagacious sense of justice. They battled inwardly, and I stared with heaving breaths as they circled one another, savage wolves embraced by the dangerous sting of hunger.

The Joker wanted blood, it flashed like brimstone in those hellion's eyes; Batman sought submission, and the cold composure of his face did not give way to his intentions.

The circle slowly began to close, shrinking with each calculated step they took, nearing the moment that the gates of Hell would be ripped from their defensive stance, and all demonic possession would break lose, casting them into a fiery inferno of an eternal war, predestined by the gods themselves, manifested at the very dawn of time.

The Joker's snarl, which bared his stained, yellow teeth in an unspoken primordial assertion of dominance, twisted into a satanic grin.

Let the games _begin_.


	16. Lust for the Unnatural

**Author's Note:**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH TO MY AMAZING REVIEWERS ! I have reached the 500 review mark.**

And it feels so awesome. :D

**As for the lack of eloquence in this part, not only am I not really feeling up to updating right now, but also I don't usually write action scenes with a lot of symbolism and intricately spun words just because I feel like it would make the action seem to vague. So, in an attempt to sharpen the boldness on the action scenes, I have made this less prettily woven and have stuck, for the most part, to the basics. But there are a few delicate lines in there, I think. :D**

**Kat, you rock! :D**

**By the way, I have an idea for my next story on my profile. If you don't exactly think the idea sounds interesting at all, please let me know. :o**

**Disclaimer: **

**The Joker and Batman belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

**NEW POLL (Not about pairings). Haha I'm sorry everyone...I am an extremely conflicted girl right now. xD**

* * *

The Joker's lips glisten a fiery shade of red, his tongue darting erratically from between a gory, snarling mouth.

That switchblade again…it flicked outwards in one quick, curt motion and loitered within the Joker's grasp, tarnishing his gloved hands with the bloodstained object like thickly flowing memories of past sin.

His arm twitched with fervor, and the burning look in his dead, cold eyes began to thaw out the frigid void that resided there. He wanted to cut open that resilient black suit and find the enigma hidden beneath.

He sprung, all coiled muscle and lithe, agile grace, plunging the gleaming blade into Batman's thick, heavy armor. The armor made him slow, it prohibited him from fluid movement while the Joker's garments did nothing to hinder his attacks.

But the biting steel hardly had an effect on him, and he wrenched the knife from his chest, tossing it nonchalantly across the barren rooftop. The Joker cackled with delight, hopping slightly in his step as the enchantment of his obsession became an overwhelming spell and lifted him from his feet. A hysterical little fit of giggles sputtered from his guttural throat, and he paced around Batman very cautiously, careful not to make any sudden movements that would tip the dark figure off and send him into a defensive frenzy.

"My, my, my…what a nifty little _con-trap-tion_ you have there! Certainly not spandex, no, no…that, dear Batsy, is expensive frivolity; ya must be a filthy rich ol' _bugger_."

He was pulled rigid as a fishing line, every muscle finely tuned to fit the aggressive stance of the situation. He was lightly curled at his haunches, prepared to spring on his opponent at any given instant if necessary.

"Enough of your mind games," Batman growled, his narrowed eyes flashing in the light of the sparkling moon. I could see the rigidity in his eyes even from where I stood, watching them closely for any first signs of the situation getting out of hand. "I came here for a reason."

"Oh? And what ever would that be, Batsy? I have no justified reason as to why you would be here, on this very rooftop, if it weren't for your insatiable lust to figure me out, that curiosity…oh, Bats, we both know that this burning _fass-ination_ that we mutually share is nothing com-plete-uhly _abnormal_. It is always _natural_ to find interest in the _unnatural_."

Batman's fists clenched, and his head pivoted mechanically as the Joker's unholy breath scathed his bare cheek.

"Tell me where he is, Joker." He rasped, his hand slowly inching toward his utility belt. I gasped, trying to keep my feet connected to the ground where they stood as I watched his hands reach for the scabbard of his own switchblade.

_Please….please don't hurt him. I beg of you, Batman. He might not be much, I'll admit it…but he's all I have left in the world._

"Why…whoever do you mean? You're speakin' crazy now, Batsy…and I thought I was the only one _unhinged_. Perhaps, if I were running around in a _ree-diculous_ bat suit like a deranged vigilante under the cover of nightfall, I'd have to be a little off my _nut_ myself."

He cackled suddenly, that feral laugh like the covert, knowing gesture of a taunting hyena. But it was cut short as Batman reached out and grasped the madman's shuddering throat. He choked on the sound, and it gurgled for a moment in his throat as surprise overthrew all elements of hilarity.

But he leered then, a great and terrible sardonic grin that stretched his cheeks almost past the borders of discomfort.

The hellion had him right where he wanted him.

"_Do it_…" His lips flared back, grinning wildly over gritted teeth. "Go on, strike me dead. Ya know ya want to, _Bats_…you know with all your pathetic little heart that you want to do me in. Avenge Rachel…I know ya had a soft spot for that little _vixen_. Well, here's your chance…squeeze the _fucking_ life outta me."

He waited with bated breath, a menacing growl of fervent desire crawling up his throat and his eyes were animate and tinged with that same blazing inferno of bloodlust. I shielded my eyes, waiting for the moment that his neck would be snapped into little irreparable shards, and I would be left alone in the world, with all that I had burnt to scattered ashes across the desolate ground.

But it never came.

"Ya just can't do it, Bats…you're weak, just like them. That…ya see, that's your downfall. Ya can't live by morality, _bucko, _if ya wanna win the charlatan's game. Ya gotta bend the _rules_ if ya wanna save Gotham before it burns to the ground."

"You, with the mask!" Batman turned around suddenly to face me, his hand still holding the Joker's neck in a loose grip. The Joker giggled ferociously, spontaneously without justification for his jubilation. "Call the station…tell them to send backup."

Ignoring the Joker's lunatic laughter, he tossed a cell phone at me and I rushed forth to catch it before it hit the ground and shattered to a million pieces. It landed within my hands, and I flipped it open hurriedly and dialed the emergency number, pressing the speaker to my ear and waiting for the usual ringing to start.

Batman snarled in a sudden outburst of pain, and he collapsed to his knees, clasping his arm to his chest as he tried to douse the pain. The Joker had taken advantage of Batman's lack of full attention and had bitten him so that he would be freed from the iron grip.

The Joker scuttled after me, and no matter how hard I tried to escape him, he was always there to kick me in the legs and send me flying into his grasp.

This occasion was no different from previous situations.

The dark, curled figure struggled to stand upright and face the Joker who was now clutching onto me like a child hiding behind its mother, and his words, accentuated by an enraged bellow, finally revealed what he'd been after all along.

"Tell me where Gordon is. I want to know where he is, Joker!"

_Oh God…please not Gordon. What has he done with Gordon?_

"Well, I want to see the man behind the mask, here, _Batsy_…but we don't always get what we want, do we now? Life's just too _unfair_ to give everyone what they want, so it just picks favorites and leaves the rest of us out in the ah – the _cold_."

Batman tensed once more and stepped forward in one hulking lunge, and once he had made it clear that he was charging for the Joker, I was forced to play hostage once again.

That knife sprang up on me and pressed its cold, biting tongue upon my skin, the pressure and trepidation of possibility skimming the curve of my throat as he traced it with the tip of his blade.

"Not so fast there, Bats. Before ya get all _livid_ here, let's play a little game…I'm givin' ya a choice to make. Take off that mask, and I'll let this here clown go free and clear…but if ya _don't_, I'll shoot it. And trust me, _Batsy_…I don't wanna have to kill off my toy. So, let's just make this easy. Take off the damn mask."

He pressed the cold steel closer to my neck, sliding his painted countenance over my hair and letting his breath wash over me in hot, sensual waves. Without warning, he ripped the mask from my face and threw it to the ground, revealing my identity to a very confused Batman.

"_You_." He seethed violently, his lips curling back into an angry snarl. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from him!?"

"Oh, but Batsy…you haven't heard the _scandal_? Little doc here is very much attach-ed to her very _straannge_ patient. She just couldn't' stay away, could ya, _sweets_?"

He shook my head for me, and I felt like a ragdoll...being used whichever way they wanted. I was no more than a stitched lump of cloth to them, another ploy in the grand design. I pleaded silence, unable to carry the burden of both the Joker's allegation and taunting words and Batman's growing fury against my lack of obedience to his order.

"Ya see, she's rendered _speechless_ just bein' in my presence. Girlies today, _Bats_…they're as cerrr-azzy as I am."

He cackled piercingly in my ear; my skin crawled from the close proximity of it, and it resonated throughout my chest, imprinting memory of its twisted depravity in every figment of my being, crowding the dark, empty spaces of my soul and filling it to the brim with fear.

So, naturally, it was out of fear that I reacted. As if from reflex, I elbowed the Joker in his stomach and his grip was released from my middle. Batman, seeing his opportunity finally as I sunk away in shame from the folded, crippled form, pounced on the figure and tied his hands and feet together so that he was unable to get away.

He lifted him from the ground with one hand and dragged him toward the brink, where the building disappeared into nothing but the cool night air.

My body froze…_surely, he wouldn't kill him? He promised never to murder…it is his one rule._

"Tell me where he is or I'll push you off the edge."

"Too late, Bats. I've already pushed _myself_ off the edge." He giggled satirically, but began to hoot raucously as Batman tipped him further off the rim of the building.

"Tell me!" He roared in his face, and the Joker merely blinked mildly.

"Well, alright _Bats_…ya win. But since ya only have five minutes left, I'll cut ya a little break. Here it is…the address. Listen carefully, _kiddos_…ya don't want ol' trusty _Co-mmissioner_ to go _kaboom_ before ya can get to him, now would ya? Wouldn't that just be a cryin' shame…"

"Hurry!"

"Why, patience is a virtue. Didn't your _mother_ ever teach you that?"

"Give me the address."

By now, Batman had shifted the Joker almost completely off the ledge, and the sinuous figure was dangling by only the tip of his toes. One slip, and he would plunge into the shadows below…to his death. I almost wanted to cry out to the dark, heady figure not to hurt him, to spare him if he intended to shove him into the obscured chasm below.

But as soon as the eccentrically giggling man had sputtered out the address between breaths, he tossed the Joker thoughtlessly to the side.

I had half a mind to go to him when the giggles were stifled and he was rendered unconscious by the heavy blow to his head…but Batman opposed it, and he stopped me before I could take another step toward him.

"You…find Gordon and bring him back. You heard the address…if he dies, you'd better never show your face in Gotham again. Do you hear me?"

He grabbed my shoulders when I failed to respond, and he shook me violently, resurrecting the sense in me as I stared up at him with wide, tearful eyes. The Joker was completely silent, wrapped in comatose dreams…he might have had a concussion.

"Yes, I heard you." I murmured disconcertedly.

He still wasn't moving…at all.

Batman, however, was impassive toward the Joker's apparent motionlessness, and instead focused his attention on me; he seemed content with my answer, and finally let go of my shoulders.

"What will you be doing?" I called after him as he turned from me.

"Calling in reinforcements."

And his cape billowed behind him as he hurried away.


	17. Saving Gordon

**Author's Note:**

**Still not in the writing mood, and this really isn't up to par, but I got it out anyway. As many of you know, the next chapter is THE VERY last one of this story. Chapter 18 is the finale, folks, and it will hopefully be out by later tonight. I'm hoping my muse will come back so it doesn't turn out THIS bad. Ugh, I'm seriously so not proud of this chapter...it royally sucks.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers !  
And the anonymous reviers as well. ;)**

**Go vote in the new poll...I know, another one? Well, this one you might like. :D**

**Kat, you're stupendous. :P**

**Disclaimer!**

**Commissioner James Gordon and the Joker belong to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

* * *

There I was, standing in the middle of a barren street, with abandoned warehouse buildings surrounding me on either side. The notepad I'd sloppily written the address on, the very same location the Joker had supplied with us, shook along with the anxious flailing of my obnoxiously wavering hand.

I'd began to walk down the sidewalk again, reading the plate in which the building numbers were engraved, flashing in the light of the moon as I paced by.

_54123_, _54124_, _54125…_

There it was, still standing luckily as I had feared it would be a pile of reduced rubble by the time I arrived on the scene…and of course, Gordon would be degraded to nothing…

I rushed through the open door of the warehouse and found nothing at all, much to my horrified surprise…nothing but a few lingering sweeps of lint and dust scathing the scuffed, old floors of the ruined establishment. There was no other floor…this was it.

I'd been tricked.

"Commissioner Gordon!" I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted into the empty building, trying not to heave all over the floor again as my stomach did somersaults and began to churn wildly again. I clutched my abdomen and leaned against the wall for support…what was I to do? Gordon wasn't here…he'd tricked us.

He was somewhere else, and now that I didn't know where, all hope was lost in ever finding him. I decided to try one last time…

"Commissioner Gordon!"

And was thankful immediately after I did.

"In here!"

My ears pricked at the sound, tuning themselves to pinpoint his exact position. But the sound of his voice seemed to be coming from the building next door…

"Gordon!"

I made a mad dash for the door and flew down the steps of the rusty old warehouse, only to scurry into the equally dilapidated one next door. This one, as soon as I had shoved through the doorframe, I was greeted with the sight of at least a hundred containers of oil, an unwelcomed sight to anyone stuck in a building with a bomb ticking just a few feet away from them with the numbers slowly dwindling back to zero, surely. Gordon was slumped over, his peppered head bowed in what seemed like prayer, but I found, as I weaved in and out of the oil canisters and he heard my advancing footsteps, that he had been cruelly beaten.

His head raised in recognition at the sound of footfalls resonating across the room. There was caked blood speckling the shadowed lines of his face, scratches engraved into his haggard cheeks.

"Chelsea?" He peered, even through his glasses, as I reached him. "What are you doing here? It's not safe…"

The clock on the explosives that was set on the barrel of oil before him was quickly ticking precious minutes away. When I had glanced at it, fleetingly, it had read one minute and thirty seconds left.

I had to get him out of here.

"I'm saving you, Commissioner."

"Well, that's very heroic of you, Chelsea…but don't you think Batman should be doing stuff like this?"

By now, I was tugging at the thick knots that held him hostage to the disabling chair, but just like I'd apprehended, they didn't budge under my prying fingers. Luckily for me, the Joker had been out cold with the knife splayed out in his unfurled grasp. I had taken it, but in exchange for the knife, I had stooped low over him and placed a kiss on his forehead…my gratitude for unwillingly, and unknowingly, letting me use his knife.

It was so odd to say that it had only just taken place ten minutes ago.

"Batman was the one who sent me," I explained as I tore through the frayed, battered knots with the switchblade and unwound them from around Gordon. "He's off alerting the police and putting the Joker behind bars."

Gordon didn't answer this time, and as soon as the ropes had gone limp around his form, he tried to stand on his wobbling, uncertain legs. Instead he fell into one of the barrels; the clock on the explosives seemed to tick faster now.

_Forty-five seconds._

I had to get a weakened and weatherworn Commissioner out of an impending explosion…before the bomb went off with us still trapped inside the building.

I hurried forward to help him to his feet, tossing his flaccid arm around my shoulder and helping him limp back toward the door.

_Thirty seconds…_

I had now had thirty seconds to reach the exit, and with all of these barrels in the way, the chance for escape was seeming incredibly low.

"C'mon, sir…at least try! If not for me, for your family. For your wife and your kids. How do you think they'd feel if they found out you'd died in an explosion?"

I didn't care that my tone of voice was too insolent for speaking to such a high authority figure of society. All I cared about was getting him out the door, and if it took a little rough inspiration to get his feet moving, so be it.

"Think of your family, Gordon."

That seemed to get his feet moving a little faster.

_Ten seconds._

We were almost to the door, and with Gordon making at least a little effort in walking ,we weaved through the last of the barrels more efficiently.

_Five seconds._

I wrenched open the door and helped Gordon down the steps. He tripped a little and stumbled on his weary feet, but he managed to reach the bottom just the same as I had.

_Three, two, one…_

The entire foundation of the Earth seemed to burst into sudden plumes of the unbridled manmade fury unfolding in great leaps and bounds behind us. The blast sent Gordon and I flying into the asphalt. Gordon just lay there, motionless, not even a sound emitting from his mouth. I think he passed out, either from overexertion or the fact that he'd hit his head fairly hard on solid ground.

I fumbled for the cell phone in my pocket and dialed for an ambulance as hurriedly as I could. The hospital that hadn't been blown up during the Joker's _game _seemed to have not been shaken by the threat and had remained in business, though I was sure they had evacuated just as we had…only to be safe rather than sorry.

It was mere minutes before the ambulance showed up, and a few cop cars behind the wailing sirens. They rolled a gurney out for Gordon and I helped them place him on the rolling cot; he was knocked stone cold, and his head rolled listlessly to the side. A pool of blood had begun to form on the clean white linen where his head was situated…I only hoped there wouldn't be any severe trauma.

To escape the cops that had arrived on the scene to inspect the damage done to the building that had exploded, I rode in the ambulance with Gordon. I worried a nail to the point of discomfort, watching the bloodstains start to flourish and deepen in color even more as they seemed to miss the head injuries and were much too flustered over the fact that he had a few broken ribs from the mob beating. While they were busy tending to his ribs, I asked for a wad of gauze. One of them threw the thin material at me absentmindedly and I wrapped the gauze until it was thick and would soak in more blood. I pressed it to the laceration on the back of Gordon's head, applying gentle pressure as to stop the bleeding.

The ride was rather short, but the entire time I was so tense with anticipation for the moment Gordon would revive from his comatose that it seemed longer than it should have.

I was told to wait outside in the waiting room by the time they got there, an unusual request for someone who had normally, when her hospital wasn't blown to smithereens, worked in the medical occupation and took pride in her work. I had always loved my work; saving people from their infirmities and fatal injuries was always the best feeling in the world. It was always a great thing to watch their loved ones' faces light up with relief and jubilance when they were told the patient would make it. I wanted to do that for Gordon, too…to tell his wife and kids that he was going to be just fine. But without a hospital to work in, that whim was inevitably put to rest. I would just have to sit and be patient in the waiting room while they worked on him…I could at least withhold the pride of saving him from the explosion in the first place while I waited.

That was enough for me.

I was curled up in an old, grimy waiting room chair, facing the doorway as I watched the people walk by, some coming through the sliding doors and some leaving. I had only been there an hour when I was prodded from my daze.

It was a female nurse, someone very much like me…she was about my age, perhaps a little younger, and looked very, very tired. But it was only natural to be a walking zombie when unaccustomed to the night shift…I'd been forced to acclimate before as well.

"Excuse me, miss, but Commissioner Gordon is awake now. He says he wants to see you."

I followed the nurse to Gordon's room, where I found him very much awake, but still looking pale and lethargic from the blood loss.

"Ah, there you are." He sat up a little in his bed as I took a seat in the visitor's chair beside him.

"You wanted to see me, Commissioner?"

"Yes, uh…I just wanted to say thank you, for saving my life. We wouldn't have made it, though, if you hadn't reminded me that there's a family out there, waiting for me to come home safely to take care of them."

He smiled gently then, and I took his hand and squeezed it as softly as was possible, then let go; he looked as if he needed some comfort.

"You should thank Batman. He was the one who almost threw the Joker off the side of a building to find out where you were."

He chuckled at the seemingly humorous tone hidden in the words, but in reality, I was a little peeved that Batman had gone so far to terrorize him when he knew better. The Joker thrived off fear, anger and terrorization; to inflict even one of those elements on him was like submitting to his dominance. He'd only find a way to use that weakness against them if they dared try and show him any flaws to work with.

"He never was a friendly fellow, was he?"

"Not exactly." I nodded, and a smile crept reluctantly up my cheeks as I thought about the truth of the statement. Batman really didn't seem to like me much at all…

Another nurse came in, this time knocking at the door to capture our attention before suddenly barging in without warning. They used to do that at Gotham General, and I knew it mostly drove the patients crazy for lack of privacy.

"Your wife is here, Commissioner Gordon."

I stood up from my chair and made for the door. I knew I wouldn't be needed here any longer with the Commissioner's wife here….surely she'd want some alone time with her husband, to share with him the relief of the fact he was still alive.

"Oh good, please send her in."

He fumbled for his glasses, which were set on the end table next to his hospital cot. The nurse walked out to fetch his wife and I was about to follow her when Gordon's voice stopped me.

"I don't know how to say thank you enough for helping me, Chelsea."

"Once is enough, Gordon. I'm not really good with gratitude anyway, I suppose." We shared another knowing little smile.

"Well, goodnight, Commissioner."

"Goodnight, Chelsea."

I left the room, and with everything settled back into where it should be and everyone safe from harm, I didn't know where else to go.

But _home_.


	18. Chosen Path

**Author's Note:**

**This is the last chapter for Saviors and Hellion Smiles.**

**I would like to thank EVERYONE who told me that this story was amazing, everyone who ever told me that I was a great writer. :D  
I would like to thank all of my reviewers, anonymous and registered, who took the time to give their opinions on my story.  
And I would like to thank KatxValentine, who inspired me on many occasions.**

**I will be writing the sequel, once I gather my bearings once again and settle back into the flow of things, especially since school is starting tomorrow and I'm not used to going again.  
So I will be writing it, hopefully, and I hope I can get to starting it soon!**

**Thanks again, everyone, for making this story possible!  
It wouldn't have made it if it weren't for all of you. :D**

**Listen to the song _Breathe_ by Angels and Airwaves.  
It's the perfect song for this ending. :)**

**Disclaimer:**

**The Joker belongs to DC Comics.  
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.**

* * *

It was cold.

All around me, a frost slowly rose and fell amongst the chill of the air, imprinting its minute fingertips into the very pigment of my skin. Little trails of goose bumps stimulated even beneath the blanket I found myself shivering beneath despite the many layers I wore and the thickness of the coverlet. It didn't matter…it was the cold within me that kept a subtle warmth from flourishing into my body like a blooming flower. Instead, the bud remained obstinately closed, waiting for the sun even under the light of an iridescent moon.

It was the mere thought of him in that jail cell or locked behind the bars of Arkham that chased the temperature from my body and left me stone cold, like a gargoyle abandoned to fester in its solitude on the rooftops of Gotham's slums. I couldn't feel anything but the cold, rotting feeling that I did _him_ wrong by leaving him there, where day in and day out, he would only find himself staring at an empty plaster ceiling and listening to the heedless groans of the patients around him.

But with the Joker in Arkham, Gotham seemed safer already. It was the best for Gotham, and though I was relieved to know that I had somehow taken part in saving my long cherished home from complete depletion, I couldn't help but feel a little ache deep behind the covert grottos of my darkest, most surreptitious heart, knowing that he was there behind rusted bars and I was here, numb and shivering in the seeping chill which squirmed through the crack on the broken window.

I tried to curl into myself and retain some body heat, my teeth chattering amidst the cold. There was no escaping the hollow feeling, like I was drained of all sentiment or ability other than to wish for him so ardently that it was my heart that ached, my soul that trembled for his presence. He frightened me, oh how he frightened me with that formidable power which radiated from his person like a terrible plague that walked beside him. He had scarred me, cut deep into more than just primordial skin to etch his memory even into the very blood which pulsated through my veins. Like pollution in a gushing river, he poisoned my vitality with a toxin that had no immunity or antidote; he would haunt me forever, a ghostly specter with a lost cause and a hellion's smile, stalking the wearisome footsteps of his weatherworn savior.

I would forget him the day I died, and even when I had passed on to the worlds between Heaven and Hell, my mind would hold even the most faded collection of memories of that god-like figure, who in sleep was just as mortal as the last breath I was given to take.

If ever there was something that lived a more pathetic existence than the one I had adopted as he walked into my life should have been given a prestigious award for his efforts. But the Joker didn't just walk right in, he slammed into me with a brute force that even the titans themselves could never endeavor to accomplish. Like a spider, with equally furtive and exceptional grace, he crawled through the guarded halls which protected me from submission and broke every semblance of self-defense I possessed until I was merely a slave to his will, bowing at his feet in plea for mercy to end his torturous mind games.

I buried my face into the shapeless form of my pillow; with sleep evasive once more, I could do little but let my thoughts wander to distant places. In its deficiency and after the nearly traumatizing event of almost losing a mentor and friend, it was only natural for my mind to find comfort in something completely horrendous and aberrant. I couldn't understand it, it was thoroughly perplexing from every angle I chose to confront the issue. The Joker was certainly nothing worth the trouble of finding comfort in; he was a fiend, a monster draped in majesties of undeserving violet fabrics and paints that belonged on the face of a derisive jester.

But still I fed off of his memory like a victim of famine, a heart starved of love for so long it had forgotten the caress of a loving gesture. The Joker would never love me, I knew this and could not find a veritable reason to weep over an unalterable fact, but I could love him anyway, even if my affections were never returned in even the simplest of ways. His kiss would never be gentle and adoring, it would always be ravaging and abrasive. His embrace would never be tender and warm, always at the point of a flashing blade. And most of all, even if the Earth would shake and shatter and turn his world upside down, I would never hear the words escape those painted, scarred lips for as long as I lived in his presence.

I love you.

He would never even dream of such human defects as love and trust. It would be a vulnerability in his perfectly stoic pretense, the crack that would bring down the mightiest of stones. All that the Joker was capable of feeling was pain, and all that he cared for was sadistic and masochistic pleasures…but especially, he loved chaos most. He would only love chaos until the day he died, set out to prove the world was black as his cold, unmoving heart, perhaps for only the reason that they couldn't accept him the way he was.

I still loved him.

Out of the shadowed dimness of the outside world and into my darkened room, the shattering of my fractured window resonated across the empty silence and penetrated my oblivious ears. My heart raced back and forth, swinging like a motivated pendulum shifted into overdrive; my veins burned with the scent of pumping adrenaline. Footsteps moved through the dark and stopped as the figure halted at my bedside.

I wanted, more than anything in the world, to shrink into my mattress and not revive until the intruder had left and taken all he wanted. He could take everything for all I cared, just as long as he did not notice the cold, trembling form lying beneath the covers in her bed. I prayed silently to God, as my ears swam and thrummed as a surreal sort of existence settled over me, that he would grant me this one prayer.

Let them leave me be.

Instead, the person did the exact opposite, and every muscle within my body went as taut and unmoving as a scorpion's tail sprung for its first strike. They were climbing beneath the sheets.

But after a few moments of tranquil, vacant quietude, I rolled over to find a body beside me. There were little shards of glass riddling the feral curls of his hair, shimmering beneath the pale, ethereal light of the moon as it shone through the gaping hole where a window had been before. He looked to be wearing a buttoned up shirt, but in the darkness it was hard to see the color and print of the material.

However, I didn't need to see the material, I didn't need to see his face. I knew who it was by the lackluster green glisten of his greasy blonde hair. He was curled up again, in that way he had always curled to sleep when he had been in the hospital; I almost wished I could see his hands, if they were naked of their gloves, and take them into mine again, just to relish the human warmth of the callused flesh, to take in the bittersweet remnants of what was left of his dwindled humanity.

But in sleep, he was merely dormant, like a sleeping volcano. Still, it plotted its revenge on the world in sleep, but when it woke, all chaos would resume.

His warmth radiated from around his body, and in my condition, I pushed closer to his back, which faced me, to encroach on that captivating warmth. My skin began to melt, it seemed, beneath his glowing heat, and carefully at first, testing the waters before I submerged completely beneath the surface, I touched his back with one daring hand. Not even the acknowledging twitch of a muscle, much less the reaction I was expecting, which involved that precious knife of his as was usual for him when it came to crossing his clearly stated boundaries. He was completely asleep.

Now that I was assured he would not stir, I closed the space between our bodies and pressed my head against his back. There was a constant, shallow resonation flowing throughout his lungs, and the smothered beating of his heart reached my ears. I tried not to fall asleep underneath such deeply woven spells of console, knowing if he woke under such circumstances there would be definite Hell to pay. But I could only furtively steal moments like this when he couldn't expect them or lash out at the first sign of human contact. I had to act quickly, a thief in the night when it came to pretending about his affection for me.

I had become a charlatan myself, it seemed, and I lived for the charlatan's game when it came to the stakes being given just an opportunity to drink in the essence of his human warmth and to hold him in my arms, if only for a moment. I would give my entire world for just one chance to hold him close to me, where he would never unleash that terrible knife, but let me gather him within my grasp and wish, even secretly, never to let go.

But it would never happen…it was only whimsical dreaming which invoked pictures to raid the tranquility of my mind. He would never consent to such a thing, and he would surely kill me if I even tried to inflict such tenderness on him.

Instead, I had to satisfy myself with the fact that I could hold him now, even if his mind was not lit with thought and schemes, even if those dark, churning eyes were slid blissfully shut from his anarchic world.

Perhaps this wasn't right, wishing to love and cherish a madman.

I knew I would regret it later; I would regret it for the rest of my life, knowing I wasted the last of my youth chasing wild dreams down a slowly darkening road, after the shrill, mocking cackle of a man who brought an entire city to its knees. But still I ventured, and still I tried…I would never give up when it came to him. I loved him, as reluctant as I was to admit to such defeat. But I did…I loved him with all my heart and soul that I possessed.

I knew this would be the biggest mistake I could ever make in my life, the worst decision I could have possibly made.

But I loved him.

And at least, for now, I could sleep.


	19. Epilogue: Jane Doe

_Commissioner Gordon could pride himself upon having the stomach to deal with gore. He'd seen countless horror films in his lifetime, and even witnessed a few homicides himself (if one was to subsist in Gotham, they had to have a will of iron and a tolerance to match). But upon seeing the sightless, staring eyes of the small woman, her face marred almost to complete unfamiliarity, he had to admit that his insides squirmed. The Joker had thoroughly mutilated what he guessed had once been a living, breathing being – but beneath all the blood and severed flesh, he couldn't be sure what exactly the rotting mound of tissue was._

"_Talk to me, McClellan." He heaved a sigh as he received a Styrofoam cup full of coffee, three hours cold. It would do, he supposed, what with his lids growing heavier by the minute._

"_It's nothing we haven't seen before, Commissioner," admitted the younger man beside him, shrugging almost nonchalantly. "Young one. We just got here so we're uh, looking for an identification of some kind. Forensics is going through her wallet."_

"_It's one of His, isn't it?" Gordon stepped forward through the underbrush, hearing the weeds snap beneath his feet as he dodged a tall, unsuspecting figure. The shorter, slighter man, despite his recently claimed status, seemed to still go unnoticed amongst the company. "That's why you called me down here."_

"_Of course, sir. We're deliberating the possibility that perhaps this was the work of a less able hand but – it was definitely one of his goons," McClellan almost smirked impishly – almost. If the scene had not been so gruesome, he would have allowed the gesture to pass. "And anyway, Commissioner…we'd never disturb you unless it was of utmost importance."_

"_I'll take that as a compliment," Gordon knelt beside the mangled body, settling his forearm against one knee. _

_He wouldn't admit to it verbally but…he was beginning to really indulge in the little perks of being the Commissioner of the Police Department; it even had a pretentious ring to it, far from fitting Gordon's gaunt features and weary conversation, as he saw his most impressive feature to be his full-figured moustache._

_A moment of silence followed as Gordon caught sight of something familiar in the face. Or rather, what was supposed to be a face. It had been rather difficult to really look it over in the darkness and with the corpse facing away from where he stood against the glare of the floodlights, but now that he could better inspect the body, he could see familiar aspects behind the decaying strips of blue-gray skin. Yes, he'd seen her before…but where?_

"_McClellan, bring me the I.D. file, pronto." He didn't even look away, merely kept his attention focused on the cadaver. He considered the fact, fleetingly, that it had been out of the desperation to keep himself attentive on something, but as McClellan returned with the thin manila folder which contained the case file, he dismissed the thought. He'd have to keep himself awake long enough to figure out where he'd seen the girl before._

"_Have you even looked through her wallet yet?" He asked, setting the cup of stagnant, cold coffee down beside him in the dirt. He hoped it would fall, just so he wouldn't have to endure drinking it._

"_No sir. It was on its way to forensics."_

"_Good, get me some gloves. I'm gonna have a look right now."_

_McClellan fished through his pocket for a pair of unsoiled inspection gloves and handed them over to his superior officer. Gordon grunted as a pathetic means of satisfaction, perhaps gratitude, and slipped his fingers into the warm latex, letting the hems snap against his wrists. _

"_Let's see what our Jane Doe here was really like, huh?" Gordon snatched the wallet out of the bag. He clicked his tongue idly, sifting through the worn leather for a driver's license. "I think the Joker may have dropped his standards a little for hiring. What do you think?"_

_Gordon gestured to the wallet, fully intact and unharmed by the scuffle that had taken the girl's life, and McClellan shrugged. "Perhaps he wiped most of them out when he took down the mobs."_

"_I'm thinking you're right," Gordon sighed and at last pulled out what looked to be a driver's license, but had turned out to be another copy of a name tag. He paused, and his breath caught in his throat._

_When the moment of truth was delayed by the sudden loss of cognition of behalf of the older man, McClellan cleared his throat, trying to break the trance. "Sir, is there uh…something to report?"_

"_Yeah, I'd say so," Gordon turned over the card, showing it to the detective with an expression of surprise shocking his dormant features to life. "Our Jane Doe here is Chelsea Grant…the nurse that had been taking care of the bastard when he was at Gotham General."_

_Both men returned their attention toward the body once again, but only one looked on in silent recognition._

* * *

_Author's Note: Here's your ending! You've been waiting for it for months. Here it is. This is what I had envisioned happening to Chelsea after she chose her path. Well, that I think is it for the SAHS story. Chelsea's dead and gone, which is realistic right? However, I'm trying out a new writing style - perhaps to bring a little life and a little less pomp to my stories._

_Well, thanks to everyone who supported me back in August with this story. I really do apologize for all the false leads that was only to lead her in the end, and so perhaps it would have been best if I'd just ended it like this in the first place and moved on. All I can say is, I'm entirely finished with Chelsea Grant's story and ready to move on to another one. I hope I can write another interesting story for all of you to read, and I'm thinking up a new plot as we speak. I'm not entirely sure what right now but...I'm going to try and make it as interesting as SAHS._


End file.
